


Disturbance

by buttered_onions



Series: Like Those Before: a Star Wars/Voltron AU [4]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Gen, Lance (Voltron)-centric, Semi-Graphic Description of Injury, tumblr requests
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-27 22:57:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10818498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttered_onions/pseuds/buttered_onions
Summary: Shiro is missing. Lance is determined to find him, but first he has to figure out how to work with Keith.Direct sequel toFirst Steps.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Happy May the Fourth!!
> 
> In celebration of a milestone on tumblr, I ran a poll for my followers to vote on which of the AU series they'd like to see continued first. This series won by an absolute landslide. It's my distinct honor to finally present a continuation today.
> 
> This fic will make so much more sense if you read [First Steps](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9605672) \- uh, first. Please note that I have not tagged for every character we may encounter on this journey.... ;) I'll add the appropriate tags in a week or so once the surprise has settled. 
> 
> Thank you for all the follows, encouragement, and support!! Thank you specifically to wrecked_anon for helping me name a planet; thanks to the Voltron ThinkTank for a reference or two. ;) sorry, mumble and andy.
> 
> Your eyes do not deceive you: this is at least a two-parter. Next chapter should be up in a few days. Enjoy!

**+1. Keith agrees.**

 

**13\. This, somehow, is what we return to.**

_“They’ll expel you from the Jedi Order.”_

_Lance gasps; his head whips from side to side, struggling to catch a view of the speaker. Like last time, and every time, he’s alone._

_“Who?” he asks the darkness. “Who’s being expelled? We’re doing the right thing! We’re going to get him back!”_

_“Lance,” Keith says, urgent. Lance blinks. The sun’s setting through the long Temple windows, stretching columns of light down the narrow strip of wide hall. “Lance, I’m not asking you to come with me.”_

_“Tough,” Lance says, again. His voice sticks in his throat. This is a decision barely made, the_ **_right_ ** _decision. The Force is everywhere, here, and the Force is telling him this is_ **_right._ ** _Lance will trust that no matter what. “Keith, I’m helping. Let me help you.”_

_“Shiro’s my friend,” Keith says. He’s staring down the hall towards a shadow Lance can’t see. The shadows are moving; Keith’s face is twisted, hard, and closed off in desperate determination. “I’m not letting the Dark Side take him.”_

_“I know,” Lance promises, insisting. He takes a step forward, a daring reach as his hand extends towards Keith’s shoulder. “Keith, you can trust me -”_

_The light flares, burning through the windows and into his retinas. When the flash clears Lance is standing somewhere else. He’s in a different room, stone floor and rough-hewn walls. There are no windows, but the room is far from dark. The brightest object in the room is on a platform directly center, a thick column of glowing light active between two generators. Lance’s breath catches in his throat._

_Shiro’s suspended in that wide beam of hard purple light. His Jedi robe is gone, his underclothes torn and tattered. Blood drips onto the bottom generator, pattering to the floor several inches below his dangling feet. His eyes are closed; Lance can only see his profile, the thick lines of Shiro’s lashes against his silhouetted, top-lit cheeks._

_“Shiro!”_

_Lance starts forwards, but no matter how many steps he takes he doesn’t get any closer to the generators. The door opens; more bright light spills across the floor, broken only by a long shadow._

_“There he is,” says a voice, low, gravelled, harsh. Lance cannot help his shudder. Shiro lifts his head wearily, still in profile even as he cranes his neck towards the door. Blood runs down the side of his face, drips off his chin. Lance cannot see._

_“My prize,” purrs the woman in the doorway, robed in dreadful black. “You will be our greatest weapon.”_

_“Lance!”_

_Lance flinches, drawn back. A breeze rushes past his cheek, whipping his loose hair into his face, spinning away Shiro and the generator-room. When Lance opens his eyes from the blink he’s elsewhere completely. He’s standing in a wide open field, the setting sun beaming down bright and comforting. Amber grass ripples in waves through the field, strands tickling at his ankles. Birds are singing, repetitive but on-pitch. A creek runs somewhere nearby, trickling and constant. That isn’t the best part._

_Hunk stands next to Lance, hands outstretched, his eyes wide with disbelief and hope._

_“Lance,” Hunk says, “Lance, is it really you?”_

_“Hunk,” Lance cries, in relief, “Hunk, I’m so sorry. I meant to leave you a note -”_

_“Lance, there’s no time,” Hunk interrupts, urgent and worried. The setting sun gleams off his forehead, shines in worried eyes. “I’m doing my best but they’re talking - Lance, answer your comm. They’re trying to expel you from the Jedi Order.”_

_The breeze shudders to a halt. Even the grass stills. The only sound is the birds chirping, again and again and again._

_“What?” Lance whispers._

_“Lance,” Hunk says, desperate. The birds are chirping - kind of monotonous, just like -  “Lance, answer your comm. Lance?”_

 

Lance jolts awake.

“Sorry,” Keith says, from the co-pilot’s seat. The repetitive sound isn’t birds after all but a persistent beeping, again and again and again in a pattern Lance’s sleepy brain can’t quite process. Keith leans forward and flicks a switch. The sound snaps off, muted.

“Who’s calling?” Lance finally asks, when his brain catches up. He rubs sleep from his eyes with the back of one hand. “Shouldn’t we answer it?”

“No,” Keith says, blunt.

Lance considers, waking up slowly. Keith doesn’t make eye contact, staring firmly out the window at the blurry stars. He’s so still he could be a statue in the co-pilot’s chair, one arm folded tight across his chest. His other hand’s rubbing at his temple again. He’s been doing that on and off since he and Lance departed the Jedi hangars, however many hours ago. 

“Headache?” Lance asks.

“No,” Keith says, curtly. He drops his hand, tucking both arms into his sleeves and leaning all the way back in a sulk. At least, Lance would call it a sulk if it was anyone - no, actually, Keith deserves the same treatment as all the rest of Lance’s friends.. He’s sulking. Justifiably, maybe, but sulking nonetheless.

“Oooohhkay, then,” Lance says, and leans back in his own chair, too.

He checks the chronometer, mostly for something to do. There’s at least two more hours before they come out of hyperspace. They’d made it out of the Jedi Temple without a hitch: no alarms, no inquisitive early-morning droids, no blips in the system. Blue had sailed them easily through Coruscant traffic and the clogged atmosphere and straight on towards Keith’s coordinates with no problems whatsoever. It had been so easy.

Too easy.

Lance twiddles his thumbs, side-eyeing Keith again. Keith hasn’t moved, glaring out the window as if his sheer will alone could make the hyperspace journey end sooner. 

Boy can Lance relate.

“Soooo,” Lance says, when the silence has stretched on entirely too long. “Who was it? The call.”

Keith doesn’t respond. Lance frowns. “Did you even check?”

“I did, and it’s not important,” Keith snaps. “We’re not taking comms.”

“Easy there, hotshot,” Lance says, holding up his hands in placation. “I was just asking. Relax. No one’s coming after us.”

The comm beeps again, panel lighting up with a blinking red dot. This time Lance is awake enough that the familiar pattern makes sense. His heart sinks. 

Lance swallows. “That’s...that’s a Temple frequency.”

“Yep,” Keith says, flat.

The comm sings its insistent reminder: one short beep, one long. Short, long. Short, long.

“Okay,” Lance says, “Um, okay, that was - that was fast. That’s fast, right? We’ve only been gone a few hours. Can they do that? Can they track us that fast?”

“Not unless we pick up,” Keith says. He leans over and thumbs the comm off. The beeping stops.

“Okay,” Lance says, sucking in a deep breath. “Okay. Stay calm. We got this. No one’s coming after us; we haven’t been gone all that long. Nothing’s going to happen; they’re not even going to be that mad. Right? They can’t be that mad. We’re doing a good thing. We’re doing the right thing. Stay calm. Stay calm.”

Keith’s eyes narrow. “I _am_ calm.”

“I was talking to myself, okay,” Lance shoots back. He doesn’t quite manage to keep the panic out of his tone.

Keith rolls his eyes. His skepticism is harsh and clear. “Are you a Jedi or aren’t you? Use the Force and calm down. Your anxiety is giving me a headache.”

“I thought you said you didn’t have one,” Lance quips. Keith shoves himself up out of his chair.

“Do _something,”_ Keith suggests, rather rudely in Lance’s opinion, and storms his way out of the cockpit.

“Yeah, ‘cause that’s real helpful,” Lance hollers after him. Keith doesn’t respond, the hem of his robe swishing around the corner and out of sight. Lance can still feel him in the Force - a distant thrum of heat, of smoldering embers hot and upset as Keith moves through the little ship. Towards the galley, maybe. Definitely away. Fine. Whatever. Good.

“ ‘Are you a Jedi or aren’t you,’ “ Lance mocks to himself, slumping lower in his seat. There’s a headache of his own building behind his eyes. “What does he know?”

The comm rings again, insistent and identical. Short beep. Long. Short. Long.

“Keith?” Lance hollers out the cockpit.

“Don’t you dare,” Keith shouts back.

Lance flicks the switch, ending the call. The cockpit fills with blessed silence. _Finally._ Lance tips his head back in his chair, closing his eyes.

The comm rings again. Short. Long. Short. Long. Beep. Beeeeeeeeep.

“Can we rip it out?” he calls loudly through the open door. “If we’re definitely not answering?”

“It’s your ship, Lance,” Keith yells back. He sounds tired.

Lance turns back to the dashboard. Grits his teeth.

“I’m sorry, girl,” he whispers, passing his hand briefly over her controls. His left hand finds the communications box, the panel routing signals into their cockpit. “I’ll fix you up later, I promise.”

The comm keeps ringing, insistent, pressing. Lance exhales and yanks the box out.

The beeping dies with an indignant squawk. Lance waits, a pounding traitorous few heartbeats, but the comms do not ring again. It’s over. It’s done. No way for the Council, or the Temple, to find them now.

_“Lance,” Hunk says, eyes wide with worry and concern. “Lance, there’s no time. I’m doing my best but they’re talking - Lance, answer your comm. They’re trying to expel you from the Jedi Order.”_

No. There’s no way that can be true. Lance is out here to help a friend; he’s doing the right thing. He’s _doing the right thing._

“Just a dream,“ Lance murmurs, aloud. He turns the box over in his hands, loose red and blue connectors curling out the back. “Just a dream.”

The Force curls around him, whispering, an undercurrent beneath his anxiety. His fear. Lance tips his head back against the headrest and lets out a shuddering breath.

It’s going to be a long trip.

 

**14\. Blue breaks down an hour before they’re set to come out of hyperspace.**

“No, no, no no no no no,” Lance groans. He’s pulled them out of hyperspace in a rush-stop, emergency brakes and procedures spitting them neatly out just inside the edge of a wide asteroid field. They’re parked on one of the stupid space rocks now, floating along uselessly while Lance peels the cover off the accessible engine and takes a look inside.

“You can fix this, right?” Keith asks. He crouches next to Lance, squinting into the machine.

“Sure,” Lance lies. He’s seen Hunk do this already, right? Can’t be that hard. What would Hunk do, to get Blue back up and running and off on the biggest rescue mission of Lance’s entire life?

Swallowing nervously, Lance sticks his head inside the machine.

It’s dark in here. The lights from the engine itself are totally dim, quiet and dull. There’s no immediate source of the issue; everything Lance shines his mini-light over appears intact. There’s not even a foul smell. No smoke, no groaning gears, nothing.

Nothing, except for the fact that his beautiful baby ship isn’t working.

“Uhh,” says Lance.

Keith jams his head in next to Lance.. “I thought you said you knew how to fix this!”

“This isn’t like baking a cake,” Lance points out, more curt than he intends. The Force between him and Keith is sharp, snappish and sizzling like lava meeting the sea. Keith pulls his head out; Lance follows, crawling out on his palms and sitting back on his heels. 

Keith’s already picking himself up off the floor. The Force around his shoulders is rigid, tight. “So you can’t fix it. You have no idea what’s wrong.”

The Force whimpers between them, the quietest begging.

“Okay,” Lance admits, slowly. “So that’s true. Kind of!” he adds hastily, when Keith turns away in frustration. “I might not be able to fix her, but I know exactly who can. Let me comm Hunk.”

“No,” Keith says, immediately.

“It’s just Hunk,” Lance overlaps, before Keith can really get started. “Last time Blue broke down like this Hunk fixed her right up. He can do it again in a heartbeat. He doesn’t even need to be here, I bet he could talk me through it! Just like that!”

He snaps his fingers for emphasis. It isn’t enough. There’s a wall up over Keith’s expression, hard and unwavering - every vestige of worry or concern or basic _human compassion_ completely gone.

“No,” Keith repeats, firm. 

He’s not  - he won’t even listen. Lance frowns, unable to stop himself. Enough is enough. Where does Keith get the right to call all the shots? Where does he get the right to -

“Okay, look,” Lance snaps. He peels himself up off the floor, standing tall and stubborn. He's just this side of taller than Keith, which makes returning Keith’s glare a piece of cake. Good. Lance is done with this. “I’m all for defense and secrecy and yadda yadda, but this is _Hunk._ He’s my best friend. He’s not going to betray us -”

“No, Lance.” The Force steams, swirling around Keith and his tension, every inch of him upset and uptight. “We’re not initiating any calls outwards. None.”

Lance throws his hands up, exasperated beyond words. “It’s _Hunk!”_

“I don’t care if it’s Master Coran himself,” Keith fires back, arms folded tight. The Force recoils in the air between them, snapping and retreating from one Jedi to another. “The Council will catch on and track us, and they’ll send someone out here to stop us before we’ve even reached Shiro’s last coordinates. We’re sitting ducks and I’m not jeopardizing this. _No calls.”_

“I’m not - it’s not ‘jeopardizing’,” Lance cries. He can’t believe - he can’t _believe this._ “Hunk wouldn’t - Hunk would _never._ He can help. Just let me -"

“No, Lance, for the fourth time,” Keith snaps. “Why can’t you just let it be? Does Shiro mean nothing to you?”

Lance reels, both from hurt and surprise. “Of course he does - ”

“Then act like it,” Keith bites, harsh. “We’re not calling for help.”

“What’s gotten into you?” Lance blurts, as Keith turns to go. “Hey! I’m talking! What the hell is your problem?!”

“My best friend is _missing!”_ Keith yells, wall finally crumbling completely. There’s desperation in Keith’s voice, a dangerous fire racing through him, pouring between them. An unsung fear, small and insecure and too real to be safely acknowledged. “What do you think is wrong, Lance?!”

“And my best friend could help, but _you won’t let him,”_ Lance shouts, closing the distance between them and jabbing his finger into Keith’s chest. “Hunk’s not going to betray anything!”

“You don’t know what people can do when pushed or stressed,” Keith snaps.

“So sacrificing _my_ friendship is worth saving yours,” Lance yells. They’re nose to nose at this point, the space between them heated and viciously upset.

“I wasn’t the one who asked you to come with me!” Keith shouts.

“You’re the one who said yes!” Lance shouts, right in his face. “Why’d you agree if you didn’t want my help?!”

Silence falls in the inches between them, bitter and burned. The undercurrent is thick, ill, discontent; the taste in Lance’s mouth is sour. Keith’s staring, wide alarm and that little hint of fear buried in his purple irises, and - also - also - 

\- a single flash of hurt, so brief and so quickly swallowed Lance might have missed it entirely. 

The Force sizzles, settling low.

“Look,” Lance says, tight. The words are hard, pulled from somewhere else. Somewhere deep within him; somewhere outside. “I don’t know how you and I got off on the wrong foot, but we’re a team now. Teams work together. And that includes listening to each other and admitting when the other person is right.”

“Which you aren’t doing,” Keith says.

“Because you aren’t right!” Lance protests. “I don’t see you offering any ideas on how to fix Blue. The only idea we’ve got is mine: _calling Hunk._ Unless you let me do that, _like a team,_ we’re grounded and going absolutely nowhere. Which, in case you’ve forgotten in the last thirty seconds, means _not saving Shiro.”_

Keith jerks away from him. His hurt ripples through the Force, a wave of distress so visceral and deep that Lance flinches, stung. The Force murmurs between them, a rolling boil pushed down to a lull.

“I don’t think I’m the one who’s forgotten,” Keith says, at last.

Lance’s jaw drops.

“I came with you, didn’t I?” Lance blurts, quiet. The question burns. This - pulls. “Doesn’t that mean anything? Don’t you trust me?”

They stare at each other for one more moment: wide eyes meeting wide eyes, hurt brushing up against hurt. This is a situation spiraled out of hand, out of recognition and out of all possible hope. 

Keith turns on his heel and leaves. The hem of his robe swishes at his ankles as he stalks out of the engine room. For the second time in less than an hour Lance is left utterly alone.

Lance groans, puffing out his cheeks in a frustrated exhale. “That went well.”

Blue doesn’t answer. Neither does the Force, rumbling and ill at ease in the back of Lance’s head. Keith’s footsteps pass away down the hall, echoing and distant. The ship’s not that big, but even that distance is unbreachable. 

Lance sighs again, rubbing his hand over the broken engine. “Why you gotta do this, girl? Can’t we just get somewhere and back in one piece?”

Blue puffs out one pitiful little burst of smoke.

“Me too, girl,” Lance agrees absently, and pats her machinery one more time. “Me, too.”

 

**15\. Lance finds Keith in the kitchen some time later.**

He lingers in the doorway, hesitant. Keith ignores him, frowning down at the counter and the food prep set out before him. The Force curls around him, hurt and pulled close.

Lance clears his throat. 

“Okay,” he starts, awkwardly. Keith doesn’t look up from the bowl he’s stirring. “Here’s the deal. I can’t fix it. I’ve tried, but it’s not going to happen. If I can’t fix it, and I can’t comm Hunk to ask a twenty-second question, then we have to stop somewhere. Get someone else to take a look at it.”

“Fine,” Keith says, voice tight. He still won’t look up, stirring even though Lance is pretty sure whatever goop he’s making has been assaulted enough.

The Force murmurs.

“Why do you hate me?” Lance blurts.

Keith’s head snaps up so quickly it’s a wonder he doesn’t give himself whiplash. Something defensive flashes in his eyes. “I don’t hate you.”

“Yeah, tell that to the giant sentient Force cloud thing hanging between us,” Lance shoots back. “Seriously, man. I know I’m not your most favorite person to be doing this with, but you’ve been ridiculously antsy since we started and it’s getting on my nerves. You always like this, or is it just because of Shiro?”

Keith sets the bowl down hard on the little counter. The container clanks against the surface; Keith pays it no heed. He opens his mouth to retort - 

And then pauses.

Lance blinks. The Force is moving, shifting. It spins around Keith, tendrils curling in thought as he weighs options. Chooses words; draws breath. Pauses. Swallows and tries again, tiny little intakes of air. His fingers curl inwards on the counter.

“If you don’t want to be here, fine,” Keith says, at last. The bowl sits on the counter in front of him, some gelatinous substance covered in swirls of unappealing powder. “I get it. Drop me off at the next planet. Call Hunk; fix your ship. Go home. I can do this by myself.”

“What are you - what?” Lance gapes, stunned. _“What?”_

“I’m not a good missions partner,” Keith says. He isn’t angry; just resigned. This is the truth, Lance realizes. Keith thinks this is the _truth._ “Do you seriously not remember?”

The Force around them goes frighteningly still.

“I remember,” Lance says, thick. “Keith - ”

“Do you remember what you _said_ ,” Keith insists. “The last time - the first time you and I worked together. What you said to me.”

“Keith,” Lance tries.

“Do you or not?”

“No,” Lance blurts, the words dragged out of him. “Clearly it was bad, if you hate me this much - ”

“I said I don’t hate you!”

“You look at me like you do,” Lance says. “Come on. I remember going on that mission with you. I remember the concussion, at least.”

Keith shakes his head, disbelieving. 

“So help me out,” Lance insists. He leans his hip against the side of the counter. “All I know is things went south pretty quick. You saved me, right? Had to carry me out. I’ve heard the story.”

Keith shoves the bowl away from him, further back against the wall. “Nevermind. Forget I said anything.”

Lance shifts immediately as Keith heads for the door, blocking his exit from the tiny galley. “Nope, nuh uh. Clearly it’s still bothering you. What happened? What the hell did I do?”

“Forget it, Lance,” Keith snaps.

“Don’t think so.” Keith angles to the right; Lance twists easily, still in the way. “We’re not going anywhere until you tell me whatever it is that upset you so much. I did it, right? I can handle -”

“No wonder no one wants to work with you,” Keith says, blunt and harsh.

All the air shrivels in their shared space, thin and dry in Lance's lungs.

“What?” he whispers.

“That’s what you said,” Keith says. There’s no victory in his words; he isn’t smug. The only emotion tinting his voice and his gaze is weary exhaustion. “To me. Before the building collapsed, you got your concussion, and I carried you out. That was it. That’s what happened.”

_No wonder no one wants to work with you._

“It’s fine.” Keith shrugs, a jerk of one shoulder that utterly fails to be casual. Lance presses one hand to the doorframe, numb. “I don’t hate you for it. I know why you said it.”

“Keith,” Lance breathes. His feet are frozen, soldered in place. His lungs still aren’t working right; words are a challenge. He swallows. “Keith, I - why didn't you tell me? We could've - we've been hating each other for years, for _that?!"_

“I said it’s fine,” Keith manages, tightly.

“How can it be fine?” Lance blurts. Everything comes racing back, a rush of shame and heated emotion. His cheeks burn. “I was - I remember I was upset. The mission wasn’t going well, right? And when things don’t go well I tend to take it out on other people. You were closest, but that’s no excuse. I was tired; the Council was putting me through every possible partner trying to find a good set, and - ”

“I know,” Keith says. He just sounds tired. “They were doing that to me, too.”

“But it’s no excuse for what I did,” Lance agrees. Suddenly he’s just as weary. Keith leans back against the counter; Lance leans on the doorframe. The galley is so very small. “I’m sorry, Keith. I never should’ve said that to you.”

Previously quiet, previously calm, the Force whispers a tiny tendril at Lance’s thawing heart. 

_Let go._

“Why did you think I said it?” Lance asks, slowly.

Keith laughs, a sardonic little huff of air.

“Because it’s true,” Keith says. “No one wants to work with me. Missions partners. Teammates. Even - ”

He stops. The Force hums, waiting. The accusation - the admission - the error hangs in the air like a stone.

Keith takes a deep breath.

“When my Master left me,” he says, slowly. He’s speaking to the bowl; he’s talking to the counter. He’s telling this story to anyone but Lance. “It was right in the middle of my Knighting. He cut my Padawan braid. He had it in his hand. He had it with him, and then he walked right out.”

“In the middle of your ceremony?” Lance whispers.

“In the middle of the ceremony.”

“In front of _everyone?”_

“In front of everyone,” Keith confirms. He’s staring at the counters. At the wall. Anywhere but at Lance. “I haven’t heard from him since. Nobody has. He’s - he’s just gone. All those years, all that time, I thought - I was so sure that - ”

He chokes. Breaks off.

“I didn’t know,” Lance says. The words stick in his throat. “Keith, did he - did Master - ”

“Don’t say his name,” Keith snaps. The Force recoils, timid and kind.

“But what about the training bond?” Lance asks, in complete, total shock.

Keith just shakes his head. His lips are pressed tight.

_“Keith,”_ Lance breathes, horrified.

“It doesn’t matter now,” Keith says. His eyes are distant. “It was a long time ago. So maybe - I thought you said it because maybe you were right. I’m not good at working with other people after all.”

“But you are,” Lance blurts. “You’ve worked with Shiro for what, years now? You guys get along great. He talks about you all the time.”

“That’s because he’s Shiro,” Keith says. “We have a lot in common.”

The Force waits. Breathes. Lance cannot speak.

“You’re lucky, you know,” Keith adds. To the countertop, maybe; no. He’s looking at Lance, this time. “I can’t go to my Master with questions. Ever. If I’m in trouble, there’s no one there for me like Master Coran is for you. Shiro and I - we don’t have that. That’s not how it is, for us.”

“You could go to Master Coran,” Lance offers, tentatively. “He’d be more than willing; he’d help you, anytime. He’s a good man.”

“He’d help _you,”_ Keith says, with a half-smile. It’s quite forced. “He raised you, Lance. Not me. The person who raised me is gone.”

There is nothing Lance can say.

“I am so sorry,” he manages, at last. It’s all he has.

“It’s fine,” Keith says. He pulls the bowl towards him again; doesn’t pick up the spoon. His fingers rest on the counter, still. “Shiro’s all I have, Lance. I can’t - lose him. I just can’t.”

The Force murmurs, considering. A river running quietly underneath; sunlit heat shimmering on its surface, calm and warm.

Lance steps all the way into the kitchen and lays a careful hand on Keith’s shoulder.

“And now you have me,” he says. Keith looks up; Lance offers him a smile, firm and sincere. “Trust me. I got you, too.”

“Then help me,” Keith says, blunt and earnest. “Shiro’s alive. Do you believe me?”

And despite it all - despite his new resolution, despite the revelations - Lance hesitates. 

Keith’s eyes are desperate, confused. The wall from earlier is just barely visible still, lingering at the edges of Lance’s senses. Keith is more than ready to close himself off in an instant. Keith believes Shiro’s still alive, so firmly he’s willing to sacrifice his entire career and calling to go after his only friend. He’s sacrificing everything on a simple, dangerous chance. Keith’s risking it all on blind, simple faith.

What does Lance have?

_An image of Shiro, suspended in that wide beam of hard purple light. His Jedi robe gone; his clothes tattered. Feet dangling; blood dripping off his chin. Turning his head wearily towards the door, the door and the long shadow in the frame._

Lance has a dream, maybe. A premonition, sure, but even that seems like a stretch in the broad light of day. The Force might be sending him these visions; the Force might not be. There’s no proof associated with them at all. Just images, flashes of conversation. 

What are those compared to Keith’s complete and total faith?

“I believe you,” Lance says. 

Lance might have had a weird dream or two, but he’s not willing to spill them until he’s absolutely sure. Keith’s faith can be enough for the both of them.

The three words do it. Keith relaxes utterly, the tension bleeding out of his shoulders. He braces himself against the counter, palms flat, fingers reaching. He doesn’t say _thank you,_ but the Force murmurs it between them anyway.

“Right,” Lance says. Keith glances up at him. “What would you say to a truce? If we tried this all again.”

“Try what again,” Keith asks, confused. Lance pulls back from him and holds out his hand.

“Hi,” Lance says, as Keith stares. “I’m Lance. I’m a Jedi, and I’m here to help. Sometimes I’m not good at it. I make a bunch of mistakes, and I put my foot in my mouth more than than any person really should. I need someone to call me on it, which, y’know, you happen to be good at.”

He waits a beat. Keith doesn’t respond, just staring open-mouthed at Lance’s hand.

“I’m not a perfect Jedi,” Lance says, “but I do make a pretty good friend. Or, at the very least, a decent missions partner. These days, anyway. What do you say?”

Keith’s still staring. 

“You shake it,” Lance whispers, just in case.

“I know what a handshake is,” Keith retorts, but for the first time there’s absolutely no fire behind his words. Still he doesn’t move, staring at Lance’s hand as if the gesture carries the power of life and death.

Then - at last - Keith smiles.

“I’m Keith,” he says, and takes Lance’s hand. The Force hums, finally - finally - one step closer towards a success. One step closer towards an answer. One step closer to - maybe - finding Shiro. “Hi.”

“Now we’re talking,” Lance grins, and they shake.

 

**16\. The engine is functional enough that they can limp to a nearby planet for aid. It's a long journey without hyperspace.**

_“They’re going to expel you from the Jedi Order.”_

_Lance reels as the darkness bends, twisting in a hall that’s narrow and tight. The light overhead is cold and weak. Shiro’s seated down a bench down the way, slumped over, elbows on knees and back bowed forward. He’s cradling his right wrist in his left hand, a wrist that shines as it catches the weak light._

_“I don’t know,” Shiro whispers, tired. Deep exhaustion’s settled under his eyes, in the harsh scar etched across his nose. The tuft of his hair has gone completely white.  “I couldn’t stop it.”_

_“Shiro,” Lance gasps. He steps forward, shaking off the chill of alarm shivering down his spine. “Couldn’t stop what?”_

_Shiro looks up at him, direct eye contact. His eyes are miserable and terrified._

_“I can’t,” he starts, “They want me to - ”_

_“Shiro’s my friend,” Keith says. Lance jumps, alarmed; Keith’s standing in their hallway, the cold light fading to a muted grey. Long windows stretch towards the ceiling; the bench where Shiro’s sitting fades. Keith’s lit by the windows, the sun striking dusk highlights in his dark hair. “I’m not letting the Dark Side take him.”_

_“Then let me help you,” Lance insists. He reaches out a daring hand towards Keith’s shoulder. “We can do this. You can trust me - ”_

_“No!” cries a voice, loud and desperate. Lance jolts away from Keith, startled, but no one’s there. “No, my father - my family!”_

_“Who are you?” Lance calls, but there’s no answer. Someone else is screaming, raw and anguished. Keith’s head whips up, staring down the hall in alarm. “Hello?!”_

_It’s all in an instant. Keith’s gone before Lance’s hand makes contact. The hall itself swirls away, vanishing under Lance’s feet. When he can see again, he isn’t staring at tall windows, isn’t standing in a hall. He’s in a tight room, harsh in its bright lighting, and he’s standing next to a table and he’s staring down at the person strapped to it._

_“Shiro!”_

_“I can’t,” Shiro gasps. Lance’s hands pass right through the electric energy straps binding Shiro’s wrists, his ankles, pulled tight across his midsection. Shiro’s immobilized, trapped flat on his back. He’s staring over Lance’s shoulder, terror reflected in his wide-blown eyes. “No - no,_ **_please - ”_ **

_Lance whirls towards the threat, his hand flying to his lightsaber, but the room shifts even as he turns. What might have been a clinical ceiling fades into a sunset, yellow and pale amber burning strong in the clouds. The field is wide and open, amber grass rippling in the breeze._

_“Lance,” Hunk says. His hands are outstretched, his face alight with disbelief and hope._

_“Hunk,” Lance exclaims, “Hunk!”_

_“Lance, where are you?” Hunk asks. The wind blows between them, rustles the ribbon in Hunk’s hair. Something tugs at Lance’s heart, pulls deep in his chest. Behind Hunk are thick clouds, chunks of dust and ash rising. A lightning storm. “Lance, can you hear me? Tell me where you are.”_

_“It’s okay,” Lance says. He smiles, a shaky expression plastered to his face. “Keith’s here, we’re getting along now. It’s going to be fine. You don’t have to worry.”_

_“I’m not worried about Keith,” Hunk says, shaking his head. “Lance, I’m worried about_ **_you._ ** _Where are you?”_

 

“What’s wrong?” Keith asks, when Lance stumbles into the cockpit halfway through the night. “I thought we agreed I’d do this bit. We won’t be there for another four hours.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Lance says, settling himself into the co-pilot’s seat. He blinks; the dream still lingers behind his eyelids, Hunk in a field of tall grass. Shiro, on a table. Hunk. Lance shakes his head, presses the heel of his hand into his eyes.

“You….okay?” Keith asks, hesitantly.

“Yeah,” Lance says. He swallows. His heart’s pounding. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

Just a dream.

It was just a dream.

Right?

 

**17\. Kesshian V is not the prettiest planet Lance has ever been on.**

“I hate to say it,” Lance says, “but I kind of think we’re striking out.”

They’re sitting off in a little cafe, ‘kicking back’ like Lance might call it in any other situation. They certainly aren’t made of money, but there’s enough to swing for two drinks: Lance has something fruity and Keith has something warm. Lance sips at his drink with its little umbrella, watching the locals pass by in the street. 

Keith shakes his head. He’s not quite clenching his drink between his hands, but he’s nowhere near relaxed. “I don’t think so. If we haven’t found a replacement engine yet, it’s just because we haven’t been to the right place. We have to keep looking.”

“We’ve been in seven shops,” Lance protests. The sun’s waning overhead, well tilted towards the end of the afternoon. “We can’t even find someone who knows what the engine _is,_ let alone how to fix it - let alone has one? We’re striking out, Keith. We gotta re-evaluate.”

“The Force led us here for a reason,” Keith insists. A little bird lands on the edge of their table, not much bigger than Lance’s fist. It’s fearless, picking at the crust of the green pastry-thing Lance didn’t finish.

“Look,” Lance says, pushing his plate towards the yellow-and-blue striped bird. The bird chirps happily - an odd sort of squawk - and hops bolding up onto the plate. “I’m as optimistic as the next person, but even I have a limit. We might not find an answer here, Keith. It might be time to call it in.”

Keith frowns down at the table, at the hastily scribbled flimsi-map they’d picked up nearly from a gift store. The attendant there had been kind enough to circle all the repair shops, hardware shops, and junk shops within the city of Kessh-VII, but all the ones within any easy walk are currently crossed out with a big holographic X.

“We’re not giving up,” Keith says, quietly, but it’s to the map and not to Lance.

Lance leans across the table. He reaches - but stops at the last second. The bird chirps, eating his crust.

“We’re not,” Lance agrees, firm, sympathetic. His hand is on the table next to Keith’s, inches away. A comfort offered, but not pressured. “But maybe it’s time to try a different tactic. This one might just not be the way we’re supposed to do it.”

The bird hops off Lance’s plate and onto the edge of the map, chasing a crumb along one of the upper streets.

“Three more,” Keith says, at last. “If none of them have anything, I’ll - we can do it your way. But only if we strike out at all the next three.”

“I can accept that,” Lance says, gently, and lets it sit.

 

The first shop after their break is a bust.

The second shop after their break is a bust.

“This is the last one,” Keith says. The crooked sign swings from the overhang, half-heartedly declaring this an “AUTHENTIC UNILU SWAPSHOP.”

“Uh,” Lance says, skeptically. “You sure they’re gonna have ship parts?”

“It’s on the list,” Keith says, doubtfully. The sign sways in the breeze, near broken off one of its hinges. “Guess we should go in. Ladies first.”

“Rude,” Lance huffs, and pushes past Keith for the door.

The Force sings in delighted warning.

Lance snatches his hand clear and jumps backwards, flailing out of the way of the door as it flies open. He overbalances off the dinky sidewalk; Keith catches him, warned by the same instinct. A small humanoid bursts out of the doorway, clutching a piece of metal scrap close to their chest.

“Hey!” Keith protests, but there isn’t time. The small humanoid doesn’t even acknowledge them but takes off down the street, feet flying.

“Come back here, you scum!” a voice yells from inside - no, from outside, as one of the Unilu people themselves race through the door. Two of their arms are waving in protest; a third shakes its fist furiously, while still a fourth brandishes an enormous knife. “Get back here! I know that’s stolen!”

The humanoid doesn’t stop, already halfway down the street. The Unilu gestures with one of his free hands, hollering inside. “Boys! We’ve got a runner!”

Two other Unilu storm out of the shop. They’re remarkably fast. Together the three of them swarm down the street and after the fleeing humanoid.

“Lance,” Keith starts - 

“Already on it,” Lance echoes, and the two of them take off to join the chase. 

It isn’t a fair fight from the get go. By the time the two Jedi arrive, the thick masks and glasses of their disguises still surprisingly intact despite the chaotic run, the three Unilu have the humanoid trapped down an alleyway, neatly cornered. Lance mimes wildly at Keith to stop, and the two of them peer cautiously around the corner.

“Give it back, girlie,” the first Unilu - Knifehands, Lance decides - says. The three Unilu are advancing, backing the humanoid - the girl - into a corner. “It’ll be less time for you if we don’t have to get the authorities involved. You wouldn’t want that, would you?”

“No,” the girl snaps. She’s clutching the object to her chest - a small hunk of scrap metal, triangular in shape. Something about her voice is familiar, but Lance can’t place it. “This isn’t yours! You stole it from me. You can’t have it!”

“Not stolen if you offered it,” Knifehands says. The two other thugs take a step in. “Come on, girlie. You have to know it’ll fetch a pretty price.”

“She could fetch a pretty price,” one of the other Unilu says, and lunges. The girl shrieks as her arm is grabbed in two of the Unilu’s hands - Grabbyhands, Lance dubs him - and twisted painfully behind her back. The metal triangle is ripped from her hands, tossed by Grabbyhands to the third Unilu, who holds it up and peers at it critically.

It’s not a piece of scrap metal. It’s a droid, triangular in shape, its single eye dull and lifeless. 

“Let me go!” the girl yells, fighting the grips on her arms. “You can’t do this!”

“I think you’ll find we can,” Knifehands says, “No one’s coming for you. Varkon owes us a favor. You just might be it.”

Lance has had enough.

“I think you’ll find you can’t,” Lance says, dramatically and right on cue as he steps fully into the mouth of the alleyway, whipping off the little round glasses and the blue goggles of his disguise. (Behind him Keith slaps his palm to his forehead.) Lance flips out the hem of his robe for effect, the Force assisting with perfect timing. “Let her go.”

“Oh?” Knifehands squints. “Who are you? Reinforcements?”

“You could say that,” Lance agrees, modestly. The girl’s eyes flicker to Lance, startled. “Listen up, Knifehands. There’s no need for this. Give her back her droid, and I’ll let you go in peace.”

“No, you listen,” says Knifehands, chuckling. Lance’s gaze flickers to Keith, still hidden around the corner of the alley. He quirks an eyebrow; Keith nods. “I don’t know who you are or where you came from, but this doesn’t concern you. Move along before we get angry and show you what a ‘Knifehands’ really looks like.”

“Mm, nope, pretty sure this does concern me,” Lance says, shrugging wide. Not wide enough; the cloak of his disguise doesn’t flop back past the lightsaber on his belt. Oh well. “Last chance. Might give you one extra, if you ask super nicely. I’m feeling generous right now.”

“They don’t deserve it,” the girl scoffs, tugging at the grip against her arm, “Let go!”

Knifehands shrugs, too. “You’re the one getting one more chance. Boys?”

The two other Unilu grunt and fling aside their coats with the free hands. A full array of weapons are visible at their belts: blasters clipped to one, a powerful sort of electro-sword at the other.

“At least you don’t all have knives,” Lance says. “Oh, no, I’m so scared, how am I supposed to fight Twelve Hands and their uncivilized forms of weaponry all at once?”

“Uncivilized?” Grabbyhands asks, confused.

“Yep,” Lance says, just as Keith steps around the corner, disguise already off and cloak fully pulled back to reveal the lightsaber of the hour. _“This_ is civilized.”

Keith smirks and ignites his saber. The Unilu pull back, surprised.

_“Your_ last chance,” Lance says, smug.

“Jedi!” Knifehands spits. “Where did you come from?!”

“We’re everywhere,” Lance lies, happily. 

“Jedi,” the girl breathes. Her eyes are huge with shock and - relief?

Of course she's relieved. Lance is a Jedi.

“Next time at least announce before you barge into a rescue,” Keith hisses out the side of his mouth, shifting into a better stance with his ‘saber. The green glow of the blade casts eerie and awesome shadows against his face.

Lance loves his job, some days.

“My bad,” Lance says. “Are we a team or not?”

“We’re a team,” Keith echoes, and steps forward, twirling his ‘saber with a smooth flick of his wrist. Grabbyhands flinches. “Lance, grab the girl and go. I got this.”

“Girl can save herself,” the girl says. “Shock ‘im, Rover!”

The droid the last Unilu is holding - the droid in Not-Knifehands-or-Grabbyhands’s hands comes to life with an energetic whistle. Its single eye lights up, glowing a perfect green, and its entire body shimmers with a harsh wave of bright emerald electricity. Not-Knifehands-or-Grabbyhands screams and drops the droid - Rover - collapsing down to his knees in shock. Rover sails free and straight for Grabbyhands; he screams too, reeling back. The girl takes advantage of the distraction and jams a bony elbow into his stomach, slamming down with her foot on Grabbyhands’ insole when he heaves for air. As Rover sails over her head she wrenches her arm free with a simple “Come on, Rover!” and bolts for the mouth of the alley.

“You got this?” Lance hollers at Keith, bracing himself.

“Yep,” Keith says, smirking, and lunges into the fray.

“Come on,” Lance orders, and grabs the girl’s wrist for the run.

 

“You okay?” Lance asks, when they’re safely several blocks away from the fight.

“Yes,” the girl gasps. Her droid hovers at her shoulder, bumping affectionately into the spiky mess of her hair. “I - I had it, but. Thanks, I guess.”

“No problem,” Lance says. “Pretty handy little droid, there. Where’d you get him?”

“He’s mine,” the girl snaps. Rover zips behind her head, frightened.

Lance holds up his empty hands in alarm. “Woah, hey, I’m not going to take him from you! Just - I have a friend who’s into droids, yeah? He’d go nuts if he knew I ran into someone with an old RO-930 model and didn’t ask.”

The girl’s face softens.

“Rover’s a 930v,” she explains, with an apologetic smile. Rover peeps out from behind her head. “My dad found him in scrap and my brother helped me rebuild him. He’s a rare unit; one of a kind. Those laserbrained goons tried to take him from me.”

“That’s what you were doing in that shop?” Lance asks.

“None of your business,” the girl say. She narrows her eyes behind the wide lenses of her glasses. “What’s a Jedi doing all the way out here?”

“None of your business,” Lance shoots right back.

They glare at each other for a long moment, arms crossed, noses up, sparks flying between them as the Force refuses to pick sides.

“Truce?” Lance offers, at last. “Question for a question.”

“Mine first,” the girl says.

The Force stands down. Lance shrugs. “Our ship broke down. Hyperspace core’s busted, I think. Or the engine. Hopefully not the engine, we made it here okay.”

The girls’ eyes narrow even further, but not in suspicion - curiosity? “What model?”

“You already got a question,” Lance says. “Why’d Knifehands want your droid?”

“I was showing them Rover as an example of the kind of work I can do,” the girl explains. “Thought they could give me a job or something. I’m kind of in a bind.”

Lance blinks. “Why?”

“It’s my turn for a question,” the girl says. “What model?”

“SYXG-niner,” Lance says. “What about - ”

“Oh, that’s not broken, just loose.” The girl flaps her hand dismissively, adjusting her glasses. “Old ship, right? That’s the problem with those models. They don’t break, they just rock themselves loose way too often. Where is it? I bet I can fix it for you. I owe you one.”

Lance gapes at her, looking slowly over all four-feet-whatever of this tiny human girl. The Force preens. “You can?”

“Judge me by my size, do you?” the girl says, quirking an eyebrow. “That’s dumb. Let me at your engine, I can fix anything. The name’s Pidge. This is Rover. Where’s your ship, Mr. Jedi?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked what you read, please considering leaving me a comment! Comments help me churn out more words faster and literally always make my day. <3 You're also welcome to swing over to my [tumblr](http://butteredonions.tumblr.com) and say hello there. Thanks so much for reading. See you in a bit!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> repairs and revelations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SURPRISE. The fastest update from me you will ever see!
> 
>  **Please note: I've added a new tag for semi-graphic description of an injury.** It's a short description, but I don't want anyone caught off guard. ....too off guard.
> 
> Also, remember when I said this was going to be two chapters?
> 
> I lied.

**18\. Pidge isn’t Hunk, yet somehow she also makes the entire repair process look ridiculously easy.**

“Yep, it’s a loose connector,” Pidge announces, her voice echoing inside Blue’s engine. She’s seated cross-legged in the middle of the machine, reaching up overhead, lip caught in her teeth as she focuses. Lance crouches just outside the engine, handing Pidge scattered parts and pieces one by one.

“Duck out,” Pidge orders, taking the last washer from him. Rover floats just above her head, his eye beaming a light exactly on an internal joint, currently stripped and exposed. “I’m going to weld this back into place. Won’t take long.”

“With what?” Lance asks, curious. Pidge taps at the edge of her glasses; a shield layer shimmers into activation. A panel on Rover’s side opens and the droid extends a metal arm, positioning himself carefully where Pidge directs.

“Unless you want to go blind,” Pidge says, cheerfully.

“Not today,” Lance eeps, and hastily scoots out.

Not a second too soon. The bright blue light of welding in action illuminates the engine as soon as he’s clear, accompanied by the sharp, tangy smell of burning durasteel and suroplastic. It smells like a thunderstorm and sour eggs.

“Where did you learn to do this?” Lance asks, over the crackling noise.

“My brother,” Pidge explains. “Rover, a little higher - there you go.”

The Force murmurs, a whisper of heat against Lance’s senses. Outside in the hall the door to the exterior pings, swishing open. The sound of the retracting access ramp hisses over Pidge’s welding.

“Lance?” Keith’s voice calls. 

“In here,” Lance says. Footsteps pass down the hall, drawing near. “Pidge is fixing Blue for us.”

“Pidge?” Keith asks, coming into the room. His lightsaber is still in his hand, though he clips it to his belt as he enters. “Who’s Pidge?”

“I’m Pidge,” Pidge says, poking her head free and de-activating her lenses. Her hair’s standing straight up from the electricity. Rover pops out over her shoulder, single eye and designs glowing cheerful green. “You’re all set, Lance. Thanks for your help back there, Jedi.”

“Of course,” Keith says, somewhat absently. He rubs his hand across the bridge of his nose, pulling his fingers away and frowning at them.

“You okay?” Lance asks.

“Yeah,” Keith says. He almost sounds - surprised, but he drops his hand and changes the subject before Lance can follow through, raising a deliberate eyebrow at Pidge. “Those Unilu did tell me a pretty interesting tale after I scared them off your trail. Something about a _stowaway_ trying to hitch a ride out on any available ship?”

Pidge blanches, pulling herself out of the engine in one smooth, offended motion. “It’s not like that!”

“You were going to ride with those creeps?” Lance demands, “Do you know what they could’ve done to you? They have twelve hands!”

“Not them,” Pidge says, scowling. “But even if it was, it’s worth the risk. I have to get off planet and I’m going to do it by whatever means possible.”

“Where are you trying to go?” Keith asks. One of his gloves is singed; Keith scowls at it too, peeling the fabric off his hand. “Be honest.”

“Or what?” Pidge raises a skeptical eyebrow of her own. “You’ll use one of your ‘Jedi mind tricks’ on me?”

Lance blinks, startled. “That’s not how the Jedi work.”

“Uh huh.” Pidge pops up to her feet, brushing herself off. Rover flits out over her head. “I’ve met exactly one Jedi in all my life - three now, I guess - but I’ve heard stories. You guys can do all kinds of things. Basically just space magic, right?”

“Magic?” Lance sputters.

“If that’s even real,” Pidge says. She shuts the door on the engine compartment, patting the machinery with an almost absent care. “I prefer science. Makes things make sense, that way.”

“The Force moves in many ways,” Keith agrees, as Lance opens his mouth to argue. “Right. ‘fess up. Where were you trying to get to?”

Pidge lifts her chin defiantly. The Force sings between them, teasing at the static strands of her hair. She doesn’t so much as blink, but both Lance and Keith still at exactly the same moment.

“Kamino,” Pidge says.

 

**19\. The only other Jedi Pidge has met is Shiro, when he came to escort Sam and Matt Holt on their scientific mission to Kamino.**

“I don’t know if you could call it a mission,” Pidge says. The three of them crowd together in the tiny kitchen, fingers wrapped around stained mugs of Lance’s hastily-brewed caf. Keith turned the caf down but made himself a cup of tea. Lance is learning. “It was just my dad and Matt. Two people; well, three, if you count your Jedi.”

“Shiro,” Keith breathes. His fingers around his mug are white-knuckled. The Force stirs in the background, rolling smooth and easy over the conversation. Rain, drizzling distant and dark on the horizon.

Pidge nods. “Yes.”

“If he’s the only Jedi you’ve met, he’s a fine example,” Lance says, quietly. 

“I can see why,” Pidge says. Rover beeps at her shoulder. “Technically I’ve met one or two others; Mom says there was a Jedi who came by when Matt and I were really little, but I don’t remember. Shiro was nice. I liked him. He’s in trouble, too?”

“Yes,” Keith says, finally finding his voice. “But he’s alive. I’m sure of it.”

Pidge’s face lights up with raw, vicious hope. “Does that mean - Matt? My father?”

“If Shiro is, they are,” Lance says. Keith’s faith is enough. “And Keith’s pretty sure. He and Shiro are _connected.”_

He accents the words with a waggle of his fingers. Pidge’s enthusiasm fades ever so slightly. Keith just sighs. 

“Connected,” Pidge repeats, skeptically. She edges along the counter just an inch away from Lance.

Keith shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. Shiro’s alive. We’re out here to find him.”

“And I’m out here looking for my family,” Pidge offers, jumping on the opportunity. “Let me stay with you! I can be helpful. I can fix your ship, for one thing; she desperately needs a few upgrades. What do you think, Rover?”

“Don’t mess with Blue!” Lance squawks. Too late; Rover’s already pulled a panel off from the wall, chirping delightedly at the mess of wires inside. Lance flails after the robot, clapping the panel closed. “Her innards are very delicate! Very delicate!”

“I’ll say,” Pidge agrees, smug. The light of the galley flickers onto her glasses. “She stalled on you in hyperspace, right? What if she does it again?”

“We’d figure it out,” Lance blusters.

“Uh huh,” Pidge says, adjusting her glasses with a cat-hooked smirk. “Face it: you guys got lucky meeting me.”

“We didn’t get lucky,” Keith says, quietly. “The Force led us to you.”

The Force preens proudly.

“Riiiight,” Pidge says, pointedly. The Force wilts. “Sure. I have other information you guys might want. Were you headed straight to Kamino, or my father’s last known coordinates?”

The Force murmurs at her shoulder, now as smug as Pidge’s self-confident smirk.

“The coordinates,” Keith says, slowly.

Pidge waves a hand. “I’ve already been. It’s an asteroid field out in the middle of nowhere. Look, I’ve got proof. Rover?”

Rover beeps obligingly, sailing away from Lance’s grabby fingers. The droid’s single light blinks once, twice, and then illuminates, projecting sharply. A hologram appears in midair, stretching crystal clear across the narrow width of the galley. 

“The Temali Asteroid field,” Pidge explains. Keith straightens up from the counter; Lance crowds over Keith’s shoulder for a better view. The Temali asteroids are clearly visible in every inch of the projection between the kitchen cabinets, pockmarked asteroids as far as the eye can see. Rover flips from still image to still image, amber-tinted rock to amber-tinted rock. “Nothing else.”

“How did you get these?” Keith breathes.

“Caught a ride,” Pidge says. Rover flips to the next image, a cluster of three asteroids bigger than Blue is. “But the crew turned out to be total sleemos, so I ditched them and ended up on Kesshian V.”

Lance snaps his fingers. “That’s why you were stranded!”

“Uh-huh.” Pidge smirks, taking another swallow of her caf. “I left them a real nice gift in their internal engine motivator. That’s what they get for trying to sell me to space pirates.”

“They did _what?!”_ Lance yelps.

Pidge waves an idle hand. ”I took care of it. Rover, next image.”

Rover flips to a scattering of larger asteroids, and then of a smaller quartet.

“No ship parts,” Keith murmurs. He’s leaned in almost all the way up to the projection, zooming in with careful fingers. Rover beeps and complies. “No evidence of a crash.”

“Or an explosion,” Pidge says. “Something grabbed them out of deep space.”

Lance frowns. “The Council said they were shot down.”

“Shot down is the easiest explanation for a loss of signal,” Pidge explains. Keith flips back one image, nodding at Rover when the droid zooms in for him. “But there are other ways. If their ship malfunctioned, they’d still be there. They’re not. If they were shot down but managed an emergency landing, they’d still be there. They're not. If they’d crashed - ”

“There’d be parts,” Lance agrees, getting it.

“And there aren’t,” Pidge confirms, grimly. “This is nowhere near Kamino. Something pulled them out of hyperspace, ending their jump. Something interfered with their signal, cutting out contact. Then the entire ship, crew and all, was taken - somewhere. Maybe it did crash; maybe it was shot down, but I did a thorough scan, life signals and all. The _entire ship_ is gone.”

Keith’s fingers still, his eyes narrowing. “Tractor beam.”

Pidge nods. “I think so. It’s all I’ve got as to why the ship isn’t there.”

“But that could be anyone.” Lance frowns, gesturing wide. “Pirates? Who would take them?”

“Someone with resources, if their ship’s big enough for a tractor beam,” Pidge says.

“And someone who knew they were there,” Keith points out. He rubs a finger across the bridge of his nose, grimacing again. “Why your dad? Why your brother? They’re just scientists, right?”

“Not ‘just’ scientists,” Pidge says, offended. “Dad’s research is known throughout half the galaxy for his work on genetics and coding; Matt’s usually his assistant, though he’s started to concentrate more on primitive biometric life forms. They were carrying some sort of research to Kamino, but I don’t know what it was. Dad wouldn’t say. Matt wouldn’t either.”

Lance taps his fingers against the counter. “Okay. Okay, that’s fine. Let’s go a different tack. Did your father have any enemies?”

“No one could hate my dad,” Pidge says, blunt. 

“Think,” Keith urges. “Did your father have any weird conversations before he left? Any strange visitors, odd packages?”

“Long comms, strong notices,” Lance adds, “Things that stand out to you in general the week or so before he left. Your brother, too.”

Pidge settles back on the galley counter where she’s seated, thinking. She’s short enough that her legs don’t reach the floor. Keith waits, the Force humming ember-bright around his shoulders. Lance isn’t going to push. They can’t afford to. The Force has brought them here, this far, for a reason.

“There was someone,” Pidge says, eventually.

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” Lance crows. He pushes off the counter, standing straight up. “Who?”

“I’m not sure,” Pidge admits, slowly. “I only heard his voice. He came to the house last week; I remember because Mom and Dad didn’t know I was home. They met with this - visitor - in the drawing room. He wanted my dad to - to give him something.”

Keith’s breath catches in his throat. The Force stills in the back of Lance’s head, a river brushing up against a bend.

“Dad refused,” Pidge says. Her brow is furrowed, words soft. “Said he didn’t know what they were talking about. The visitor didn’t like that. Our security droid - you know the old G-one-TR units? Our Gunther’s old, but he kicked the visitor out when they wouldn’t leave. I didn’t think of it until now.”

“Did they come back?” Lance asks. 

“No, but - ” Pidge looks from Keith to Lance, distress and confused hope warring in her eyes. “I get it now. Whatever Dad was carrying, the visitor must have really spooked him. That must be why Mom asked for the Jedi.”

Lance turns to Keith. “Did Shiro know about this?”

“He didn’t say,” Keith mutters. He folds his arms across his chest again, fingers tapping at his bicep. “You’re sure you don’t know who it was?”

“I’d recognize the voice again,” Pidge says, hesitantly, “but I didn’t see their face. I could comm home and ask if Mom knows. Maybe she can transfer Gunther’s security stills to Rover, here.”

Rover closes the images of the asteroids, beeping softly as he hovers back over Pidge’s head.

Lance glances hesitantly at Keith. “Uh, our comms are kind of - broken.”

“Oh, I’ll fix ‘em,” Pidge says easily, hopping off the counter. “Which way?”

“It’s broken because we took them out,” Keith says, flatly. “We’re not making any calls.”

Pidge pauses. “That’s silly. Why? You guys aren’t being tracked, are you?”

“No, but we’re trying not to give away our location,” Lance slips in, smoothly. He must be imagining the grateful look Keith shoots him. Right? Right. “We’re trying to lie low. Don’t exactly want whoever took your dad and brother to know we’re out looking for them, too.”

Pidge waves her hand, not concerned. “No problem.  I can mask a signal easy. I fixed your engine for you, didn’t I? When I’m done, nobody’s going to be able to track your calls in or out. Unless you’re scared…?”

Lance squawks. “Jedi don’t get scared!”

“Good,” Pidge says, firmly. “Then let me fix them.”

Keith’s hesitation is nearly palpable. The Force trembles, unsure.

“I know you’re worried, Keith,” Lance starts, tentatively. “But this might be our best option.”

“You’re sure no one will track it,” Keith says, slowly. 

“Trust me,” Pidge says. Rover chirps confidently over her shoulder. “I hacked into the Coruscant Archives when I was seven without even being on planet. I’ve decoded hours of genetic stuff with Matt and Dad. I built my own podracer almost from scratch. I think I can scramble a comm signal backwards and forwards without anyone being the wiser.”

She holds out her hand. The Force is swirling, heavy and thick like rising smoke.

“You help me,” Pidge says, “and I’ll help you. A Holt keeps their promises. I’m on your side. Deal?”

The Force dances around her outstretched hand, beckoning and inviting. 

“Deal,” Lance says. He lays his hand atop hers, glancing at Keith. “Keith?”

“Deal,” Keith says, at last, and puts his hand onto the pile too.

 

**20\. In the absence of further information, the team routes the newly-repaired ship for Kamino.**

The first time Lance hears it, he’s lying on the floor of Blue’s cockpit, half-talking to her, half-thinking out loud.

_“Lance.”_

Lance jerks his head up so fast he slams it on the underside of the dashboard. Pain ricochets in his forehead; Lance groans, peeling himself up off the floor. “Yeah? What’s up?”

No one answers. 

Lance blinks. The cockpit is completely empty. Keith isn’t hiding behind one of the chairs, playing a joke on him. No one is there.

Huh.

_“Lance!”_

“Pidge?” Lance asks, venturing out into the main hall. “Pidge, did you call me?”

“Did I what now?” Pidge asks, swinging in upside-down from one of the open ceiling panels.

Lance shrieks and jumps nearly two feet in the air. “Pidge! Don’t do that!”

“You called me,” Pidge says, unapologetically. How she shrugs while _upside-down_ is a miracle. No, scratch that; how her glasses stay on, while she dangles upside-down hooked only to the ceiling panel by her knees, is just plain bizarre. “What up?”

“Did you need something?” Lance asks, squinting at her. He can’t figure out the best angle to speak to her. Or look at her. Should he tilt his head to the side? The other side?

“Nope,” Pidge says, gleefully. “Unless you know how to hotwire an old I-90-beta coil to a new one? Your lights keep flickering and they’re driving me nuts.”

Lance blinks. “Uh, first off, what are you doing to my ship? And second - no? You called me.”

“Didn’t,” Pidge says, simply, and swings herself back up.

“You’d better not break her,” Lance yells up at her.

Pidge sticks her foot out the hole of the ceiling panel and waves it at him. Lance gets nothing else for his troubles but an entirely cheerful blat from Rover, up there with her.

Fine. Whatever. Lance doesn’t need them, anyway.

_“Lance?”_

Keith’s in the lounge, stretching. Sweat stains his under tunic as he moves, shifting from careful kata to careful kata. His outer robe is discarded in the corner.

Lance raps his knuckles against the doorframe. “You call?”

“No,” Keith says. He exhales, breathing smooth and steady. All the furniture in the lounge is shoved to the edges of the room. (Lance didn’t know Blue had that option.) “What do you need, Lance?”

“You sure?” Lance asks. “I thought I heard someone say my name. Or something.”

Keith drops his outstretched arms, staring. Lance stares back.

“Or not,” Lance says, feebly. “I mean. Just hearing things. That’s fine. Nothing weird or new or anything. Carry on.”

“You’re hopeless,” Keith says, rolling his eyes. Something about his tone is just a little off. 

“Is that - a joke?” Lance gasps, narrowing his eyes. “Are you - are you _teasing me?”_

“I don’t tease,” Keith says, taking up the first form again. The position angles his body away from Lance, but not before Lance catches the smallest, barest gleam in his eyes.

Keith’s laughing.

Lance fights to keep the grin off his face.

“Riiiight,” Lance says, smugly, and cocks a finger-gun at Keith. “Sure. I gotcha. Nothing the great Knight Kogane would ever do. Teasing’s far beneath you.”

“Shut up,” Keith says. “Hey. Lance.”

Lance pauses on his way out the door.

“Since you’re here,” Keith says, dropping out of the stretch.. “Want a sparring partner? There isn’t much room, but if we’re careful we can make it work.”

Only years of experience with keeping a straight face helps Lance’s jaw not drop open. _“Me?”_

Keith’s eyes gleam again, that same small spark of humor. “Unless you think Pidge can hold a lightsaber.”

“We are not using lightsabers inside Blue,” Lance says, but he’s already shucking his outer robe. “Better brace yourself, Mullet. You don’t know what you’re up against.”

“Fine by me,” Keith says, and shifts his weight back into a ready stance.

 

**21\. They spar until they’re both exhausted, and then slip into an easy sort of meditation.**

_“They’ll expel you from the Jedi Order.”_

_“Shiro’s my friend,” Keith repeats. He’s tired, deep circles of exhaustion beneath his eyes. His body is angled away from Lance, staring down a hallway towards a shadow Lance can’t see. His face is twisted, hard, and closed. “I’m not letting the Dark Side take him.”_

_“We’re going to find him,” Lance insists. He steps forward, reaching his hand to lay on Keith’s shoulder. “Keith, I promise -”_

_Before Lance’s palm can make contact the dream shifts, the hallway twisting and turning away._

_“No!” someone’s screaming, “No!”_

_“I won’t quit,” Keith snarls, in a room of dark rocks. The blade in his hand glows purple._

_“I am not leaving,” someone else snaps, her vowels long and her consonants sharp. A tall woman stands on a balcony overlooking a beautiful field, the wind rippling through her long silver hair. “Not while my people are in danger. My father -”_

_“No,” overlaps another voice, crying, a voice Lance should know but still can’t quite place. “My father - my family!”_

_“Lance,” Keith says. They’re standing face-to-face, hand-to-hand. Both palms rest on a lightsaber held between them. Keith’s face is miserably sorrowed. “Don’t do this.”_

_“Don’t do this,” overlaps a different, pleading voice, “No, please -”_

_The room spins. Lance reels. He’s back in the same clinical room, staring down at the table. Shiro’s strapped down, immobile at wrists and ankles and chest, his head turned to the side. There’s a deep gash sliced into the bridge of his nose, bleeding and raw. The blood streams down the side of his face, pools beneath his cheek. Lance claps a hand over his mouth, stomach heaving._

_“I told you,” says a voice, purring low, gravelled, harsh. Shiro flinches, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. He’s gasping for air through his mouth, terrified. “Your resistance does you no favors. The Dark Side will have you, my Champion, one way or another. You have the power to end this. Give in. Let it in. The Dark Side knows all.”_

_“Shiro!” Lance screams -_

_“Lance,” Hunk cries._

_The room shifts. A breeze rushes past his cheek, spinning Shiro and the nightmare and the room away. When Lance opens his eyes he’s standing back in that warm open field, the beaming sun bright and comforting. Amber grass ripples; birds sing; the creek laughs nearby. Hunk stands before him, arms outstretched._

_“Lance,” Hunk says, without delay. The wind plays with the ribbon in his hair; the familiar tugging pulls at Lance’s heart. "Where are you?”_

_“It’s fine,” Lance reassures him. He smiles, putting into it everything he has. “It’s fine, bud. I’m sorry I didn’t leave you a note, but we’ll be back soon. Tell the Council not to panic, okay? Is Master Coran panicking? Tell him I’m fine.”_

_“Lance,” Hunk says, again. The ground shakes, trembling beneath their feet. “Lance, I’m coming for you. You’re not doing this without me. Just tell me where you are.”_

_“I can’t,” Lance says._

_The tugging in his chest deepens, but it isn’t unkind. It’s warm, like the sun. Bright and sure like a firm hug. Hunk’s smile. The ground shakes again, harder._

_“I’m coming,” Hunk promises._

 

Lance wakes up because the ship _jolts,_ slamming abruptly out of peaceful hyperspace. Every alarm wails, Blue crying out her distress. 

“What the hell was that?” Lance yelps, picking himself up off the floor of the lounge.

“Not again,” Keith groans. He’s only slightly faster getting to his feet. “Pidge!”

“Not me!” Pidge cries. There’s a thud in the outer hallway as Pidge drops down from her tinkering compartment; feet slam against the grids as she races to the cockpit. Lance leapfrogs over Keith and bolts for the door.

“What’s going on?” Lance demands, sliding into the cockpit. Pidge relinquishes the pilot’s seat gratefully and Lance throws himself into the chair. “What’s happening?”

“Why did we stop?” Keith asks urgently, right behind him.

“I don’t know,” Pidge gasps. She’s flipping switches on the dashboard left and right, but the controls remain stubbornly out of use. “Everything’s locked. Why is everything locked?”

“C’mon, Blue, my baby,” Lance pleads desperately, “Don’t do this to me!”

Keith pushes right into his space, frowning at the controls. “Less baby-talking, more fixing!”

“She’s doing her best!” Lance protests, pushing Keith right back via his face. “If she spat us out of hyperspace again there’s a reason!”

“Let me see,” Pidge demands, popping up between both of them and the console. She’s frowning at both the controls and the readouts. “No, your engine’s still running. This is - something’s jamming our controls!”

“Something like that?” Keith asks, faintly.

Lance’s head snaps up. 

Out the window looms a massive, massive ship. Its curved underbelly looms in their entire view screen, pale yellow and ribbed. It’s so big that the top half of the ship isn’t visible.

“Uh, Pidge,” Lance asks, stuttering. “Who did you pick a ride with? The first time?”

“Not them,” Pidge says, vehemently. 

“Who did you talk to?” Lance presses, whirling in his seat. “On Kesshian V. Who else knew you were there?”

“I’m traveling under a disguise, bantha butt,” Pidge shoots back. “You think I’d use my real name if someone’s after my family?”

“Whoever it is, they tracked you and they found us,” Keith says. His grip on Lance’s chair is white-knuckled. “We should never have let you call!”

“Hey, my encryption was solid,” Pidge snaps. “However this ship nabbed us, it isn’t my fault! Whoever they are-”

A blinding light slams into existence outside their window, coming from the massive ship. It illuminates the entire cockpit, completely encompassing every inch of poor Blue. The beam is bold, amber-yellow, and terrifying silent.

“- they’ve got a tractor beam,” Pidge finishes, weak.

“Kriffing hell,” Lance breathes.

With a creaking groan Blue begins to rise, pulled upwards by the beam towards the belly of the enemy ship. 

“Do something!” Keith yells.

“I can’t!” Pidge yelps, scrambling at the controls. “Everything’s locked!”

The beam pulls them closer and closer, silent and looming. A panel opens in the belly of the massive ship, easily wide enough to swallow them whole.

The realization hits them all at the exact same moment.

“They’re going to board,” Pidge whispers. Her fingers freeze over the failed controls, shaking.

“Pidge,” Keith demands, “Pidge, focus. Can you override the main door?”

Pidge shakes her head. “Nothing’s responding -”

“Do everything you can to get control back,” Keith orders. Pidge flies into action, ducking down beneath the dashboard. Rover zooms to join her. Keith straightens up, his hand going to his lightsaber. “Lance.”

“Right there with you,” Lance says, firm, as he stands and unclips his lightsaber too. “Pidge, stay here. We’ll handle this.”

“We don’t know how many there are,” Keith says, as they head for the door of the cockpit. “We can’t let them get onto our ship. If you -”

“Guys,” Pidge hollers. 

The comm rings.

Lance’s feet skid to a halt. Keith freezes, fingers still on the door panel. Pidge peels herself out from under the dash. As if in slow motion all three of them turn to the comm system. The yellow light from outside fades only slightly as the belly of the ship swallows them whole, forcing Blue to ascend upwards through a wide, dark tunnel. That isn’t the worst part.

The comm box beeps, red light blinking and blinking in a familiar, horrifying pattern. The comm beeps at them: one short, one long. One short, one long. One short, one long.

“No,” Lance gasps. Keith’s speechless, pale and shaken by Lance’s side.

“Who is it?” Pidge demands. “Do you know who it is?”

_Lance._

The comm keeps beeping. Lance drifts towards it as if in a dream.

“Are we answering it?” Pidge asks. Her voice floats to him distantly, thin. 

_Lance._

“Lance,” Keith says. He’s almost begging. “Lance, don’t.”

“I think we’re out of options, Keith,” Lance says weakly, and thumbs the connection open.

The beeping stops. The cockpit fills with expectant, terrifying silence. Lance draws in a full breath. “This is Vessel number -”

_“Lance!”_ shouts a voice through the comms. _“Lance, is that you?!”_

It’s a distinct voice. A perfect voice. A voice Lance honestly wasn’t certain if he’d ever hear again. 

“Hunk?!” 

_“It IS you!”_ Hunk cries. Lance flings himself forward, cranking at the controls but the video signal’s disabled - he can’t get a feed. Blue continues to rise through the tunnel, windows dark and blurred but for that beam of yellow light. _“Lance, you moof-milking son of a bantha, where the hell have you been?!”_

“Hunk,” Lance cries, “Hunk, buddy, what are you doing out here? Are you out here? Where are you?!”

_“What are_ ** _you_** _doing out here?!”_ Hunk retorts, right over top of him. _“Lance, you are in so much trouble right now -”_

“Where are you?” Lance repeats, babbling straight over Hunk too. A different sort of light appears at the top of the dark tunnel Blue rises through, directly overhead. Pidge casts a helpless look at Keith, but Keith’s still frozen, bloodlessly pale. “Hunk, where are you?”

_“Look out your window,”_ Hunk says.

Like a puppet drawn on strings Blue ascends out of the tunnel, hovering neatly in the middle of an enormous, bright-lit hangar. The lights illuminate each corner of the round space as the mouth of the tunnel closes. Blue is set down gently onto the floor.

Several beings cluster off against the far wall of the hangar, not humanoid at all but almost gelatinous, more resembling larvae than any other alien Lance has ever seen. Lance doesn’t have eyes for them. Lance only has eyes for the figure standing directly in the aliens' midst, brown Jedi robe plainly visible against every single element of his surroundings.

"Hunk!" Lance cries.

_“Hi,”_ Hunk says, into the comm. Wild relief colors his words, but there’s also a distinct element of - of - nerves? _“I-it’s good to see you. Is Keith there too?”_

“I’m here,” Keith says, tight.

“That’s your friend?” Pidge asks, frowning out the window. “Who’s that with him?”

Hunk waves from his position on the other side of the hangar. Sure enough someone is standing next to him. They’re of a height with Hunk and quite thin, arms folded in the wide sleeves of their equally brown Jedi robe. The stranger’s head of bright orange hair is as distinctive and unmistakable as the mustache on their face.

All the blood drains from Lance’s cheeks.

“No,” Keith breathes.

_“I am so sorry,”_ Hunk starts.

_“Open up, boys,”_ Master Coran says, from his position next to Hunk. _“You have a great deal of explaining to do.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter probably won't be up this fast. Come yell at me on [tumblr](http://butteredonions.tumblr.com) in the meantime, ya? :) Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> verdicts and determinations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to wait until next week to deliver this, but I just can't. Here it is! the last installment of this AU update and this follower milestone celebration. Thanks so much to my followers on tumblr for voting and choosing this piece to continue a bit; it's been an honor.
> 
> That said.
> 
> Sometimes as a writer I'm socked with a scene absolutely out of nowhere, so vivid and vibrant that it just hits and won't let go. Do you ever have that? Do you ever scribble something down and tuck it away, waiting - just waiting until it can see the light of day? Sometimes it's days. Sometimes it's weeks. Sometimes, like in this case, it's months. 
> 
> This installment has one of those ultimate Scenes.
> 
> I'm both thrilled and terrified to present it to you today.
> 
> Enjoy!

**22\. Hunk bounds up the access ramp the second it’s down, barreling through the open door and catching Lance up in a hug so tight it lifts Lance right off his feet.**

“Oof,” Lance wheezes, but he’s laughing; he can’t help it. The relief is overwhelming, all-encompassing. Hunk’s here. Hunk is _here._ “Easy there, big guy. I’m glad to see you too -”

Hunk drops him the few inches to the floor, grabbing Lance’s biceps and shaking him instead (not roughly, just a little).

“Don’t do that again!” Hunk wails. “Do you have any idea what’s happened? What were you thinking?!”

“I’m sorry,” Lance manages. His hands grip Hunk’s forearms too, grounding, clinging. It is _so good to see him._ Lance is shaky with the relief, knees trembling with the shock. “H-how did you find us?”

Hunk glances over his shoulder. “Uh - i-it’s a long story.”

Master Coran joins them at the top of the ramp, just inside the relative safety of Blue’s open door. He isn’t smiling. The Force, usually a good indicator of the situation, has fallen completely silent.

“Master,” Lance manages. His tongue is thick, his throat dry.

“Lance,” Coran says, in greeting. His gaze slides over to where Keith’s standing by the controls. “Knight Kogane.”

Ohhhh boy.

“Let’s go inside, shall we?” Coran suggests. “The Taujeerians are friendly people, but goodness are they nosy. I’d prefer to have this conversation in private.”

Lance swallows, nodding. “The lounge?”

“That’ll do,” Coran says. Keith doesn’t say anything; he taps a command on the door panel so the access ramp can begin its grinding retraction.

“Seriously, how did you find us?” Lance hisses, leading Hunk along. “How did you even get here?”

“Caught a ride,” Hunk says, “The Taujeerians were heading by on their tri-annual pilgrimage; happened to be going the same way. Lance, what were you thinking? You didn’t answer your comms, you didn’t leave a note, you took off in this piece of junk -”

“Hey,” Lance protests. 

“You know Blue’s not space-worthy for long trips,” Hunk wails, as they round the corner and into the lounge. The furniture is still pushed up against the walls; there hadn’t been time to rearrange. “We barely got her back to the Temple the first time! There’s a loose fault in the -”

“In the turbine connector,” Lance says. “I know. Pidge fixed it for us.”

Hunk blinks, startled out of his monologue. “Pidge?”

“That’s me,” Pidge pipes up. Hunk whirls; Pidge waves sheepishly from where she’s seated on top of the lounge table, cross-legged at the ankles. “Hi?”

“You fixed her?” Hunk blurts, “Was it the turbine connector?”

“Yep, the A-9N,” Pidge says. “I welded it back together; she should be fine for a really long time.”

“Ohhh,” Hunk says, nodding in pleased approval. “Good call. Did you also check on the - holy Force and stars, is that an original RO-930v?!”

“More or less,” Pidge says proudly. Rover chirps happily over her shoulder. “The structure’s original, I reprogrammed him basically myself. Wait - are you Lance’s friend?”

Hunk sticks his hand right out for Pidge to shake. “Sure am. I’m Hunk. How’d you get the wiring to work? The low-magnetic tubing was discontinued -”

“Okay,” Lance interrupts, gently peeling his arm free from Hunk’s grip. “You guys talk, I’m gonna go - ”

“We upgraded,” Pidge grins, shaking his hand once. “Rover lights up and everything. Wanna see?”

_“Yes,”_ Hunk cries, and Lance shakes his head and leaves them to it.

The others have followed to the lounge as well. Keith’s barely inside the door - practically more in the hall - with his arms folded tight across his chest. He’s ramrod straight, so tense he’s nearly shaking. The emotionless wall is back up over his face, hard and unwavering. The Force gathered around him is quiet and cold.

Master Coran stands by him, a few feet away. His arms are folded as well. There’s no anger in his expression - nor is there anything welcoming about his frown. He still isn’t smiling. His silent disappointment hurts more than Lance would like to admit.

Lance takes the four steps over to join them. A deep stillness settles over their half of the lounge. 

At last Coran turns, still without smiling, and solemnly regards Keith.

“Knight Kogane,” he says.

Keith’s chin tilts up. The Force murmurs, but Lance can’t make it out. 

“Master Coran,” Keith says. 

Coran takes his time, scrutinizing and agonizingly patient. Lance holds his breath, unsure. In all the years he’s known his old Master, he can count on one hand the number of times Coran has ever been this serious.

_They’re going to expel you from the Jedi Order._

Lance’s gaze flickers back to Hunk. Hunk catches his gaze; averts his eyes back to Pidge. This is a conversation he is not invited to. Lance swallows.

“You do understand the gravity of what you’ve done,” Coran says. Keith winces minutely, but doesn’t look away. “Sneaking off in the dead of night. Absconding with a ship. Refusing to answer your comms, again and again. A bit of sneaking is encouraged; this is far beyond that.”

Lance can’t help it. “Wait, Master -”

“You’re not off the hook either,” Master Coran cuts him off. Lance freezes, breath caught in his throat. “I’ll get to you in a moment.”

“If you’re going to expel me, do it,” Keith gets out. His fingers are worrying at his bicep, left hand gripping the muscle of his right arm. “I’m not sorry, and I’m not going back until Shiro’s found. But don’t punish Lance for it. The whole thing was my idea.”

Wait. Wait, _what?_

“What?” Lance blurts, “No! Master, don’t listen to Keith. I volunteered for this. If he’s out of the Order, then - I’m out too.”

The words burn all the way out of his chest and out in the open, lingering and raw. They’re painful; the hindsight stings, the Force stirring and uncomfortable in his throat. Lance has wanted to be a Jedi his _entire life._

But Jedi look out for people. Jedi help people, especially their friends. Lance _has to believe this is right._

“Lance, don’t be stupid,” Keith snaps. “This was my idea - ”

“And I’m right here with you, _stupid,”_ Lance says, glaring just as hard. His hands are shaking; he tucks them into his sleeves quickly. “Don’t do the I’m-So-Noble-Woe-Is-Me-Thing for me. If you’re out, I’m out.”

“You’re both stupider than a pair of wild Choferiaks,” Coran interrupts, bluntly. “Is it my turn?”

Both of them fall silent.

“Most of the Council does think expulsion would be a fitting punishment,” Coran says. Keith flinches. Lance’s heart is _pounding._ “You cannot value the life of one over so many.”

“Shiro’s not dead,” Keith says. He says it to the floor.

“Master Coran,” Lance starts, desperately.

“Fortunately,” Coran says. Keith’s head jerks up; Lance’s eyes widen. The Force rekindles, tense - and yet somehow - “I disagree. My dear boy, you should have waited.”

Keith’s jaw drops. Lance’s knees shake; the Force rushes in to support him, keeping him upright. 

“If you’d waited,” Coran continues. The twinkle in his eyes is back, bright and almost amused. “You’d know that we had every intention of sending out an investigative force to look into Knight Shirogane’s disappearance. You beat us to it, but not by much. Your impulses have always gotten the best of you, Knight Kogane. Next time you must have patience. Do you understand?”

“I understand,” Keith mumbles. 

“So we’re not expelled?” Lance gapes.

Master Coran smiles, at long last. “Not this time.”

Keith sags against the doorframe; now Lance’s knees really do give out. He sits down hard on one of the benches, fingers gripping the edge as Coran continues. “You’re both on probation, which means you’ll both be grounded once we return to the Jedi Temple; reinstatement pending review by the full Council. It also means neither of you are authorized for missions unless accompanied by a full Jedi Knight of equal caliber and standing.”

Keith frowns. “We’re not going back -”  

“Fortunately,” Coran adds, right over the beginnings of Keith’s heated protest, “You appear to have gained two such responsible supervisors in the last ten minutes. Hmmm. Funny thing, that. What an incredible coincidence.”

“Incredible,” Lance breathes, shakily. Across the room Hunk beams at him, smile broad and pleased. Keith’s speechless.

“Cheer up, Ewoks,” Coran announces, entirely too cheerfully. He tugs at his mustache; lets it snap with a proud twang. The Force around him sparkles. “Master Coran is here. So I do believe that this time - you’ll be alright.”

“Master,” Lance says, torn between relief and embarrassment. 

Coran’s smile softens into something more somber; he waggles one gloved finger at Lance. “But bear in mind: I can’t always cover for you, Lance. You’re a Jedi Knight now. If you want to be a Jedi Master someday you can’t go raring off like this. There will be repercussions, and you will have to face them when we return.”

“I understand,” Lance mutters. “I - Master, I can’t believe you _came.”_

“Of course I did,” Coran says, his entire face shifting into a wide grin. The Force beams around him, sparkling and proud. “The Council won’t miss me for a week or so. Too sedentary in our chairs, that’s what I always say. Besides - my old Padawan was in trouble. What was I supposed to do?”

“I’m not your Padawan anymore, old man,” Lance says, but he’s smiling too.

“You’ll always be my Padawan,” Master Coran says, and accepts Lance’s hug. “I’m always going to be there for you.”

The Force flinches, bitter and quick. Lance startles, surprised; Keith doesn’t look up.

“I’m glad,” Lance says, after a moment, “And I really am grateful, Master, don’t get me wrong, but - could you have picked a more ostentatious ship to do it in?”

“The Taujeerians owed me a favor,” Coran says, cheerfully. “Besides, it was the only way we could for sure get you out of hyperspace without you running away again. Worked, didn’t it?”

“Y-yeah,” Lance manages. Keith pushes himself off the door frame, shaking his head. “But how did you find us in the first place?”

“Ah, yes,” Coran says, nodding sagely. The Force murmurs, quite smug. “It wasn’t me. It was Hunk.”

Lance’s jaw drops open. “Hunk?” Across the room Hunk looks up, grinning sheepishly. “You found me?”

“Did he call you?” Pidge asks, blinking.

“Uh, not exactly,” Hunk says, laughing a little sheepishly. “It’s a long story, like I said. The Force helped.”

“The Force helped,” Lance repeats, disbelieving.

“Well, yeah,” Hunk protests. “I - it’s kind of hard to explain, but I kind of - don’t make fun of me, okay, but - I saw you.”

_Hunk, standing in a field under a setting sun. The wind rippling through the tall grass and the ribbon in his hair -_

-no. That was just a dream.

“You saw me,” Lance says, choked.

“I did,” Hunk says, firm and without a shadow of a doubt. “I just - I went into pretty deep meditation, and there was this - path between us, I guess? Like you were in my head, but not. It almost looked like my ribbon, only brighter. More like you.”

“I look like a ribbon?” Lance says, blinking.

“It’s kind of hard to explain, okay,” Hunk says, flushing, “But it _felt_ like you. So I followed it, in this meditation, and it told me where you are. The Force led me. I followed it, and I found you.”

“You found me,” Lance repeats. “We - have a bond?”

“You most certainly do,” Coran says, nodding at the both of them. “All the missions the two of you have been on? How long you’ve known each other, even; I’m not surprised. Reach out to the Force, my old Padawan. Look _in._ What do you see?”

Lance closes his eyes, there in the middle of the lounge. He takes a deep breath; lets it out. The Force swells in his lungs, settles in his bones. The steady murmur of his creek grows, trickling and humming in his ears as the Force wraps itself around him, opens doors within him as Lance opens himself to the light. Sinking into meditation used to be a chore; it’s easy, now, to drop into that sacred space between him and the thing he holds most dear. 

The Force hums happily, a stream rippling in his ears. Lance sinks deeper. In the back of his mind, the very core of who he is, a few old tendrils linger. There’s the remnants of the Training Bond he’d shared with Master Coran, once; not broken or severed, just quite dull with disuse. That time of Lance’s life is long over. What is startling is that tendril, that connection, is no longer the only one.

A space that’s been empty for days no longer is. Something fills him, overflows, reaches out into the distance - a bright bright tendril of a path, glowing so very strong. A part of him, drawn out along a bond so natural and perfect Lance never noticed its formation. It’s bright; it’s warm; it’s a hug. A smile. A gentle tugging against his soul.

_Lance,_ murmurs a voice. A voice that Lance knows intimately, immediately, and would trust with his very soul. _Lance?_

“Hunk,” Lance cries, and his eyes fly open. Hunk beams at him, gripping tight. “It _is_ a ribbon!”

“That’s how I found you,” Hunk says, and laughs when Lance flings himself into Hunk’s arms. “Hey! Easy!”

“I didn’t realize,” Lance babbles, overcome. Overjoyed. The last bond he’d had was the Training Bond all those years ago, a Bond dormant with the strength of years - and now this. _This._ “Hunk, I heard you. I _hear you._ ”

“I hear _you,”_ Hunk confirms, grinning too.

“Aw, youth,” Coran interjects fondly, wiping a tear from his eye.

“Sounds like a bunch of mumbo jumbo to me,” Pidge says, blinking from one of them to the next.

Coran blinks in her direction too, then smiles brightly. “Ahh! I see we’ve got another stowaway on board. Who is this sprightly little thing no one’s introduced me to?”

“Uh,” Pidge says, glancing from Hunk to Lance, clearly a bit befuddled. (Lance can’t blame her, it takes time to get used to Master Coran.)

“This is Pidge,” Lance says, gesturing with a flourish, “She’s the genius who fixed our ship. Her family are the scientists who were with Shiro.”

“Of course,” Coran says, chuckling. “Ah, the Force does move in mysterious ways. Your family were the ones with the message, correct? Don’t suppose they told you what it was?”

The Force slams into shocked silence.

“The what?” Pidge says.

“The _what?”_ Keith gapes.

“The _whAT?!”_ Lance squawks.

Coran tweaks at his mustache, nodding sagely. “Dr. Holt is no ordinary scientist. If you’d answered your comms, lads, you’d know we’ve been trying to contact you precisely about this issue the entire time. The Holts were carrying a grave message on their journey. I picked Shiro to ensure its delivery myself.”

“To Kamino,” Pidge whispers. The blood’s drained from her face; she wobbles just a little. Hunk reaches out to steady her.

“Why Kamino?” Lance blurts, recovering. “There’s nothing there.”

“Not fair, Kamino has people too,” Hunk reminds him.

“Don’t bother your young little heads about it,” Coran says, waving a gloved hand casually in the air. “Kamino was merely a stop gap.”

“A cover,” Keith breathes, catching on immediately. The very air has changed, the Force shifting around the five of them and their galaxy-shattering revelations. “It was never going to Kamino either. Where was the message headed?”

Coran looks him dead in the eye.

“Altea,” he says. 

  

**23\. To say the news is a shock would be a complete understatement.**

“Altea?” Pidge gasps. “But - Matt said it was research. He - my dad - they’re _spies?”_

“Oh, I very much doubt that,” Coran reassures her. Lance has made more caf; Pidge clutches the mug between her hands, near-shaking from the shock and the revelation. “More like their research hit some sort of valuable reference, or information, that needed to be delivered to Altea immediately. They wouldn’t tell me what it was.”

“You spoke to them?” Pidge breathes.

Coran nods gravely. “I did. Whatever the message was, they were spooked enough about it that your father wouldn’t speak of it even over the encrypted comms. He insisted it was absolutely vital. I sent Shiro both to escort them and to bring the message back. An overabundance of caution, perhaps, but your father’s disappearance only proves he was right.”

“Disappearance,” Pidge murmurs. “So you do think they were taken.”

“I am ruling nothing out,” Coran says.

“Shiro’s alive,” Keith insists, shaking his head. “If he is, Pidge’s family must be, too.”

Coran swirls his mug in his hands thoughtfully, the tea swishing inside. “We can’t say for sure. Unless - you haven’t seen him, have you? Any of your own premonitions, any weird dreams?”

Keith’s brow furrows. “Shiro’s _alive.”_

“Have you seen him?” Coran asks, ever so gently.

Keith freezes. Lance stills.

_Shiro, suspended in a wide beam of harsh light. Strapped down to a table. Bleeding from a gash across his nose -_

No. No, those are just dreams. Lance has no _proof._

“It doesn’t matter if I’ve seen him,” Keith counters at last, tilting his chin up stubbornly. “Has the Force told you Shiro _isn’t?”_

“Ohhh, I know where you learned that trick from,” Coran says, almost fondly. He chuckles. “Deflecting old Coran, ahh me. What memories. Your Master would be proud of you.”

“Don’t,” Keith snaps.

“I think what Master Coran is trying to get at here is that there’s still a lot we don’t know about the situation,” Lance blurts, tripping over his words to interject. “Right? Pidge has been there, but that’s it. Shiro and Matt and Dr. Holt had a message, but that’s it. What else?”

Coran hums to himself, swirling his tea again. He’d brought his own stash; the smell of his unique blend clogs up the entire lounge.

“There are pieces of a greater puzzle at work,” he says, at last, “and I’m afraid I don’t like how they’re aligning. Something big is going on in this galaxy. Search your feelings. Have you felt it?”

_A room, empty but for two generators and a thick, harsh beam of terrible light._

_A room edged in dark rocks; Keith in it, alone._

_Hands meeting over a lightsaber, over, under, and done._

_Hunk, in a field, the wind rippling through the ribbon in his hair._

_Shiro, in a hall, staring at a reflecting arm._

_A voice, harsh, gravelled, and grating._

Lance shudders, but nods. Keith nods. Hunk nods.

“Nope,” says Pidge, bluntly. “Are all Jedi this weird, or just you?”

“We’re not weird,” Lance says, offended.

“You’re pretty weird, man,” Hunk says, fondly.

“But why need an escort?” Keith asks, pulling the conversation around. He hasn’t picked his mug back up; his left hand’s gripping his right arm again, fingers kneading almost absently at the bicep. “Doesn’t that make it automatically more suspicious? Why not bring the message straight to the Temple and have us take things from there?”

“Or even just to Coruscant,” Lance agrees, perking up with the possibilities. “Chancellor Alfor is from Altea, right? They could’ve given the message straight to him!”

“Can’t,” Hunk reminds him, lightly kicking Lance’s ankle. “Did you miss the election last year? Alfor’s not in the Senate anymore. It’s Chancellor Zarkon, now.”

“But what could it have been?” Keith wonders aloud. “Your Dad really didn’t say anything about this?”

“No,” Pidge says. Rover hovers over her shoulder, a silent witness. “He didn’t tell me anything.”

Coran clears his throat, setting his mug of tea down on the table by Keith. (Keith wrinkles his nose.) “There is something I’d like to ask you, young Pidge. You mentioned your father had a visitor. Did he happen to look like this?”

“I didn’t see his face,” Pidge warns, as Coran digs around in his pocket.

“Perhaps you’ll recognize him anyway,” Coran suggests. He holds up a little disc; presses his thumb to a button on the side. The disc projects a portrait of a being: a Galra, visible only from the shoulders up.

“Who is it?” Lance demands. Pidge leans in to study the portrait carefully, squinting at the Galra’s big tufted ears, the eyepatch over one eye, the thick scar.

“I don’t recognize him,” Pidge starts.

“Master Coran,” Keith growls. It’s only barely this side of polite. “Why do you have a holo of _Darth Sendak?”_

Pidge jerks away from the holo. “Of who?!” 

“Because he was spotted on the Balmeran-Galra mining coalition not two days ago,” Coran says, bluntly. The image of Sendak spins in his palm.  “And it’s not the only place he’s been. Communications with the Balmaran Coalition have completely stalled since his visit. And this is not the only place reporting a sighting.”

Lance turns to Hunk, horrified. “Shay?”

“Still at the Temple,” Hunk reassures him. 

Keith’s gone utterly pale. “Shiro disappeared more than two days ago.”

“Wait,” Pidge says, shaking her head. “Wait, hold on. I thought the Sith were a legend.”

“No,” Master Coran says, softly. “I’m sorry if it frightens you, young Pidge, but they are not. They are very much alive. The Force is shifting in ways I do not like. We must find where that message went, who took it - and what it was.”

“The Balmera,” Keith says, firmly. “If that’s where Sendak was last seen, that’s where we should be headed. Maybe they have Shiro there. If Sendak’s there -”

“We have to go to Altea,” Pidge insists, right over him. “If anyone’s going to know what the message was about, they’re our best shot. That’s where the message was headed, that’s where Ex-Chancellor Alfor is. He might know who’s after the information and then he’ll know who took my family!”

“We’re wasting time,” Keith insists. The Force pings between them, warmer and warmer. “We can’t go in two directions at once! Shiro doesn’t have that kind of time!”

“Neither does my family,” Pidge shoots back, just as heated. Two hot spots of color spring to her cheeks; where before there had been shock, now there is anger. “Altea’s our best option!”

“The Balmera,” Keith says firmly. 

“Altea,” Pidge snaps.

“Hate to say it, but I’m with Keith on this one,” Lance says.

“Look, I get that you’re all buddy-buddy now, but Pidge has a point too,” Hunk protests, holding his hands up in placation. “If Altea’s where the message was headed, that’s where we should go, right? Ex-Chancellor Alfor can help - ”

“If Sendak’s on the Balmera that’s where I’m going!” Keith snarls.

“I’m not letting you turn this ship around to the dead opposite side of the galaxy!” Pidge yells.

“Enough!” Coran cuts in, shouting.

The silence in the lounge hangs, the argument cut short. The Force swirls, a bitter firestorm burning in a hot, messy tangle.

“Right,” Coran says, at length. He folds his arms again, drops his shoulders with a huff. “Arguing will get us nowhere; we all need to be on the same side, here. There’s no good in barging into this. The Force has led us this far; it’ll lead us along yet. I am going to meditate and ask for the answers. I rather suggest you all do the same.”

“Do the what now,” Pidge asks, blankly.

Coran tilts his head at her. “Do you want to learn to meditate, young Pidge? It has great benefits -”

“No, thanks,” Pidge says, blanching as she pushes herself off the table.

“Where are you going?” Lance calls after her.

“To do something useful,” Pidge snaps, over her shoulder. “Rover and I will be in the ceiling, fixing the lights. Call if you need anything. Or - find something out, or -- whatever.”

Rover sails along behind her as Pidge leaves, chirping.

“She’ll learn,” Coran says, nodding sagely once the door has swished shut behind them. “Now then. A spot of rest, a bit of something to eat, and then we’ll see what the ol’ Force has to say. Who’s in?”

 

**24\. The Force, usually so generous with its answers, has nothing to say that afternoon.**

 

**24\. The Force has nothing to say after they take off from the Taujeerians, drifting aimlessly in space as they wait for an answer that has yet to come.**

 

**24\. The Force has nothing to say that evening.**

 

**24\. In fact, it isn’t until much, much later that at last the Force whispers, and Lance sits bolt upright with the bold and obvious answer.**

“Keith,” Lance hisses. The ship’s quiet in the night cycle. Pidge and Hunk are both asleep in the sleeping bunks out in the hallway. Coran’s in the cockpit, though when Lance checked in he’s pretty sure Coran is asleep, too (Coran’s Sleeping Snores are way louder than his Meditation Snores. Lance wasn’t his Padawan for nothing). 

Keith’s in the lounge, cross-legged and curled against the back wall. The Force turns around him, but isn’t settled. 

“Keith,” Lance says, “I have an idea.”

Keith doesn’t even open his eyes. He hasn’t moved an inch since that afternoon. “Unless it’s some sort of midnight revelation about finding Shiro, I don’t really want to hear it. Sorry.”

“That’s the thing, though.” Lance keeps his voice down, the low lights of the night cycle steady and dim. Even if there’s not much of a chance the others will hear, the idea’s still too new and raw to speak boldly. “I think...it kind of is.”

Keith stills, both eyes flying open. Lance moves even closer. They’re tucked back in one of the corners of the circular lounge, barely visible from the main door.

“You found him?” Keith whispers. His voice cracks with hope. “The Force told you?”

“Not yet,” Lance says. “It just told me how to find him.”

Keith’s eyes narrow - not in anger or disbelief, just confusion. “How?”

Lance drops down in front of him, down into an easy cross-legged seat.

“You,” Lance says, simply, utterly serious. 

The Force stills. Waits. Waits, and waits, and waits. Keith stares, so hopeful and yet so desperately afraid. 

“What are you saying?” Keith asks. His words are so quiet, so alarmed that Lance barely catches them.

Lance draws in a deep breath. The Force murmurs.

“I’m saying, I think you can use your bond with Shiro to find him.”

Keith goes absolutely, utterly still.

“I don’t care what kind of bond it is,” Lance says, fidgeting. Keith’s frozen, staring at him with something akin to raw panic. “I’m not going to tell Hunk or Master Coran. But there’s more at stake here than your pride, Keith. This is Shiro’s _life_ we’re talking about. Pidge’s family. Don’t you owe it to them to look?”

“Shiro and I don’t have that kind of bond,” Keith blurts. “You and Hunk, yeah. But we - “

“I’m not asking you to define anything,” Lance says, right over him. “I’m just asking you to take a good hard look at this. Shiro’s alive, right?”

“Of course he is,” Keith stutters, hurt.

“And how do you know that?”

“I just do - ”

“Nope, not good enough,” Lance presses. “How do you _know?”_

“Lance, I told you - ”

“Tell me again,” Lance urges. He scoots closer, knees bumping. _“How do you know?”_

Silence. Something on the ship beeps, engines humming beneath them as Blue flies. The Force breathes, shifting. Settling. Waiting.

“I can’t,” Keith whispers. He’s frighteningly pale. “We’ve never - I - ”

“You can,” Lance urges, “You have to. You can go into meditation. You can look at this bond. You can _follow it_ and you can tell us where to go. You can save him. If Shiro’s alive, you’re his only hope.”

A myriad of emotions ripple across Keith’s face. Confusion. Desperation. The glimmer of distant, desperate faith.

“How?” Keith asks, and he looks so lost and unsure that Lance can’t help himself - he reaches out and squeezes Keith’s knee, offering immediate comfort. The Force whispers, settling around them. 

_How do you reach out to someone?_

“Here,” Lance says. “Give me your hand.”

 

They slip into meditation together.

Like this, Keith’s presence in the Force is clearly visible, an undercurrent of vibrant red running beneath the Force Lance knows so well. Lance’s connection with the Force is like water; Keith’s runs like heat, burning and all-encompassing. Lance isn’t afraid. He’s meditated with other people countless times. Usually it’s Hunk; Hunk’s warmth is deep and vast too, like sunlight brushing against tree trunks and tall grass. Keith’s heat is different. He’s a star, the warmth from standing beneath the sun itself, nearly too hot and crisp against Lance’s skin - the searing heat moments before a sunburn. It’s so different than Lance’s own river that for a second he’s utterly thrown off.

_Sorry,_ Keith whispers, in their meditation, in the space that’s forming between and around them. He pulls back, tucking the light in around himself reflexively.

_No,_ Lance corrects. His river brushes into Keith’s current of heat; the water warms as the creek runs between the two of them, as the Force murmurs, trickling over stones. _Here. Reach. Come on._

Neither of them really know what they’re doing; the Force does. The Force has been waiting for this moment for quite some time, wrapping around both of them, guiding and insisting. Lance is dimly, distantly aware of Keith next to him: cross-legged on the floor of the lounge, both of them focused, eyes closed. Keith’s real hand grips Lance’s a little tighter. Lance takes a deep breath, lets it out. Can _feel_ Keith follow suit.

_Reach,_ Lance says.

The sunlight reflects off the river, shines through trees. It illuminates a desert, vast and open, spreading wide as far as the eye can see. In the distance clouds cover the horizon, grey and threatening. Light breaks through them in magnificent beams, fragmenting down to the hot copper of the plateau’s sand. A tepid breeze rustles their hair, very softly. Weak.

_That way,_ Keith says.

They follow it. The breeze is a little wisp of a thing, a struggling sort of breath of air quite different from the vast openness around them. A breeze that might fill sails, maybe, on another sort of day; a breeze of silver cool mixing with rose gold heat. Not today. Today it’s a path, stretching off into the distance, guiding them to where the desert meets the sky. 

Keith turns for it.

_Reach._

 

The little wisp is a path they walk along. The little wisp is a door that opens, a part in the clouds that the sun streaks through, shining on hair, warming clothes. Keith takes a deep breath. In another plane Lance squeezes his hand.

Keith reaches.

 

The wisp slams into a fog. They’re sucked in immediately, instantly blinded and lost. Every inch of their vision covers in soupy white, hazy and cloying. The fog utterly encompasses them, so thick Lance can’t see more than a few inches ahead of him. So pressing and sickening and utterly, absolutely unique that Lance recognizes it immediately.

_Force inhibitor,_ Lance gapes, and down the bond he’s sharing with Keith comes a rippling dazzling horrified recognition as Keith recognizes it, too. The feeling is distinct and unmistakable.

Four thoughts overlap, all at the same time:

 

This is a Force inhibitor. 

Keith and his blind faith were _right._

There’d be no reason to drug a dead person.

Shiro’s _alive._

 

Keith’s moving faster now, tugging Lance on. The fog shifts around them but cannot touch them. The Force is muted, here, save for the fierce heat emanating from Keith’s burning, fierce determination. His energy cuts through the fog like a beacon; like a light. It wraps around the path of a wisp they’re still following, guarding it. Protecting. Searching, steady and determined.

_Where is he?_

Tendrils of fog drift out of the way as they move forwards, drift across Keith’s beam of light.

_Shiro,_ Keith calls, as they move forwards. _Shiro?_

Still nothing. The fog quivers a little, grey clouds billowing at the edges of Lance’s vision. He can’t see through it. In another plane Keith’s frowning, breathing hard. Tugging, too.

_Shiro? Answer me. Shiro, where are you?_

The wisp Keith’s guarding in his hand quivers now, shaking.

_Keith, look,_ Lance gasps.

In the distance a second little light shines through the fog, a dim glow like a match struck behind a screen. The fog shudders, trembles. Doesn’t move.

_Shiro?_ Keith calls.

And then Lance hears it. 

It’s small, so quiet he nearly misses it. A choked whimper; a cry, trying. An effort. Around them the fog shifts, struggling, a boot pulling out of mud and sludge.

_…keith_

 

_Shiro?!_

 

_keith?_

 

The little wisp trembles, fragmenting Keith’s light into multiple directions. On another plane Keith’s hand is shaking in Lance’s. 

_Shiro,_ Keith yells, _Shiro, I’m here. Shiro, where are you?_

The fog rips away. It’s enough.

Pain slams into them, hot and vicious and brutal. It’s a gale on the ocean, a tornado roaring over the plains, a hurricane whipping up the sea. Lance yelps; Keith screams. The pain is immense, all-encompassing; it burns from the inside, stretches and presses and tears without escape. It’s - it’s - 

_Keith,_ Shiro’s voice says, as clearly as if he’s standing right next to them. The tone of his voice is desperate, miserable. Too late Lance realizes he’s intruding on something incredibly personal, but there’s no escape. Keith has a death grip on his hand, Keith’s not letting go, Lance is as caught up in this Force vision as Keith is. _Keith!_

_Shiro, what’s happening?_ Keith gasps. Keith keeps his head. Keith pulls in a deep breath and finds his footing again, flames strong, feet firm on the planks of a tossing ship. _Shiro, what’s happening? Where are you?_

_Keith, no,_ Shiro cries, _You can’t -_

**_You think you can intrude on this?_ **

A blow slams into them, solid weight like a boulder dropping from the sky. Keith’s grip loosens; he slides down the slipping boards of their ship, plummeted to the ground. Lance fights, gripping Keith’s hand tighter. Keith doesn’t need him, already scrambling back to his feet and shouting in the face of the terrible wind: _Shiro!_

Something slips around them; a sickening taint, stealing what little light there is in the raging sky. A chill runs down Lance’s spine; next to him Keith’s gasping, brow furrowed in terrible concentration. Their knuckles are white. The taint is sickening and stolen and cold and it is **dark.**

_Shiro!_ Keith screams.

A voice laughs into the fog, all around who they are and where they’ve arrived. It’s strong and insidious; a woman’s voice, low, gravelled, harsh.

**_You think you can take him from me?_ **

_No -_ that’s Shiro, Shiro’s sobbing - Lance’s heart clenches, his gut lurches into his throat. Keith’s screaming; the pain’s everywhere, bleeding, burning, excruciating. There is no escape. _No, Keith -_

**_The Champion will always belong to me,_** the voice cackles. The pain spikes to a vicious wail, the raging storm, the agony burning _burning up his arm -_   ** _once the Dark Side has taken hold it’ll be too late. Bring him back to your precious Light, Jedi. If you can._**

_No,_ Keith cries, and reaches even further. _Shiro -_

Blinding pain ricochets down the bond, lightning crackling splitting them apart. Shiro’s screaming - Keith’s screaming - Lance can’t, _he cannot tell -_

 

**Come back. Come back _right now._**

 

Ice-cold water drenches over him, shocking him out of meditation and shattering Lance’s focus completely. The bond snaps; Lance gasps for air; his eyes fly open.

Coran kneels in front of him on the real plane, crouched down low in the lounge of Lance’s ship. They’re on Blue. They’re safe. An empty bucket is held in his old Master’s hands, brim still dripping. Freezing water drips off every inch of Lance’s hair, his nose, even his eyelashes. He shivers, shocked and cold.

“K-k-kriffing hell, Coran!” Lance shouts.

“What were you thinking?” Coran shouts right back, casting the bucket aside. Lance cannot remember the last time his Master was so angry. Angry? No. Worried? “What were the two of you doing?!”

“We couldn’t reach you,” Hunk babbles, by Keith with a second dripping bucket. Pidge stands behind both of them, eyes wide behind her glasses. Next to Lance Keith sputters, gasping for air. If there’s tears on his face Lance cannot see them for the water dripping from Keith’s terrible mullet, all down his face, pooling beneath both of them in a spreading deep puddle on the floor of the lounge. “We tried everything -”

“The Dark Side was here,” Coran says. His fingers are on Lance’s face now, the fabric of his gloves soothing even as the water dripping from Lance’s hair soaks them through. Lance shivers, hard. “I felt it. Look at me. _What were you doing?”_

“Looking for Shiro,” Lance gasps. “L-l-like - like Hunk found me. Keith was f-finding Shiro.”

Coran’s gaze snaps to Keith. 

Keith’s bloodlessly pale in the dim lighting, hands shaking, his face lined with pain and exhaustion.

“Woah, easy!” Hunk catches him, bracing Keith easily as Keith struggles to stand up, wobbling dangerously. “You - you might be dizzy for a while, okay? Let’s go sit down -”

“We don’t have time,” Keith says. He’s shivering as well, but doesn't notice. The Force shifts around him, a blanket - a balm, a determination running strong and fierce beneath his words. An ember, sparking; a fire ignited that Lance has never seen before - 

No. Lance _has_ seen this before, but only in the depths of a shared meditation. Only on the bow of a tossing ship; only chasing a wisp across a desert, guided and guarded beneath fiercely cupped hands.

_Yes,_ breathes the Force. _yes. yes. Yes._

“Did you see him?” Coran asks. There’s no need to clarify.

Keith raises his gaze, and in his eyes is truth, power, and determined, bitter flame.

“Yes,” Keith says. “And I know where he is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :')
> 
> That concludes this installment of the Star Wars/Voltron AU! Future updates will be posted as separate stories, or perhaps first on [tumblr](http://butteredonions.tumblr.com). If you liked what you read please consider leaving me a comment! Comments absolutely make my day and encourage me to keep writing. <3 
> 
> Need more Star Wars AU immediately? The amazing [bajillionkittens](http://bajillionkittens.tumblr.com) wrote an adorable piece of fanfic for this fanfic series! It's called [Padawan](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10593978/chapters/23419362) and focuses on little Shiro meeting his Master Ulaz for the very first time. It's so sweet and adorable and I can't rec it enough. ~~I'm so nervous for the 1/2 chapter marker....~~ Please zoom on over to it if you need some fluff after this monstrosity :)
> 
> I'm hiding out on [tumblr](http://butteredonions.tumblr.com). You're welcome to come yell at me there too. :) Thanks for reading!


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